^^ 

-^ 

A 

J^wfr  ^^f 

^^ 

HkiKiSft^ ' 

m 

H 

rji 

1 

1 

"■^^^B 

HHHH| 

^H^oHh^^I 

^^^^1 

Dp 

1 

^ 

■  il^A^?SvSP^^^ 

■ 

i 

k^'.t  - 

.i,,-!**.- -*  • 

Honor«5  de  Balzac 


THE  MAGIC  SKIN 


BY 

HONORE   DE  BALZAC 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1915 


"  "un 


)r)i^  URL 


THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

To  Monsieur  Savary,  Member  of  Le  Academie  des  Sciences. 


Steene— Tristram  Shandy,  ch,  cccxxlL 


THE  TALISMAN 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  October  1829  a  yoimg 
man  entered  the  Palais-Eoyal  just  as  the  gaming-houses 
opened,  agreeably  to  the  law  which  protects  a  passion  by  its 
very  nature  easily  excisable.  He  mounted  the  staircase  of 
one  of  the  gambling  hells  distinguished  by  the  number  36, 
without  too  much  deliberation. 

(1) 


2  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"Your  hat,  sir,  if  you  please  ?"  a  thin,  querulous  voice  called 
out.  A  little  old  man,  crouching  in  the  darkness  behind  a 
railing,  suddenly  rose  and  exhibited  his  features,  carved  after 
a  mean  design. 

As  you  enter  a  gaming-house  the  law  despoils  you  of  your 
hat  at  the  outset.  Is  it  by  wa,y  of  a  parable,  a  divine  revela- 
tion ?  Or  by  exacting  some  pledge  or  other,  is  not  an  infernal 
compact  implied?  Is  it  done  to  compel  you  to  preserve  a 
respectful  demeanor  towards  those  who  are  about  to  gain 
money  of  you?  Or  must  the  detective,  who  squats  in  our 
social  sewers,  know  the  name  of  your  hatter,  or  your  own, 
if  you  happen  to  have  written  it  on  the  lining  inside?  Or, 
after  all,  is  the  measurement  of  your  skull  required  for  the 
compilation  of  statistics  as  to  the  cerebral  capacity  of 
gamblers?  The  executive  is  absolutely  silent  on  this  point. 
But  be  sure  of  this,  that  though  you  have  scarcely  taken  a 
Btep  towards  the  tables,  your  hat  no  more  belongs  to  you 
now  than  you  belong  to  yourself.  Play  possesses  you,  your 
fortune,  your  cap,  your  cane,  your  cloak. 

As  you  go  out,  it  will  be  made  clear  to  you,  by  a  savage 
irony,  that  Play  has  yet  spared  you  something,  since  your 
property  is  returned.  For  all  that,  if  you  bring  a  new  hat 
with  you,  you  will  have  to  pay  for  the  knowledge  that  a  special 
costume  is  needed  for  a  gambler. 

The  evident  astonishment  with  which  the  young  man  took 
a  numbered  tally  in  exchange  for  his  hat,  which  was 
fortunately  somewhat  rubbed  at  the  brim,  showed  clearly 
enough  that  his  mind  was  yet  untainted;  and  the  little  old 
man,  who  had  wallowed  from  his  youth  up  in  the  furious 
pleasures  of  a  gambler's  life,  cast  a  dull,  indifferent  glance 
over  him,  in  which  a  philosopher  might  have  seen  wretched- 
ness lying  in  the  hospital,  the  vagrant  lives  of  ruined  folk, 
inquests  on  numberless  suicides,  life-long  penal  servitude  and 
transportations  to  Guazacoalco. 

His  pallid,  lengthy  visage  appeared  like  a  haggard  em- 
bodiment of  the  passion  reduced  to  its  simplest  terms.  There 
were  traces  of  past  anguish  in  its  wrinkles.     He  supported 


THE  TALISMAN  3 

life  on  the  glutinous  soups  at  Darcet's,  and  gambled  away  his 
meagre  earnings  day  by  day.  Like  some  old  hackney  which 
takes  no  heed  of  the  strokes  of  the  whip,  nothing  could  move 
him  now.  The  stifled  groans  of  ruined  players,  as  they 
passed  out,  their  mute  imprecations,  their  stupefied  faces, 
found  him  impassive.  He  was  the  spirit  of  Play  incarnate. 
If  the  young  man  had  noticed  this  sorry  Cerberus,  perhaps 
he  would  have  said,  "There  is  only  a  pack  of  cards  in  that 
heart  of  his." 

The  stranger  did  not  heed  this  warning  writ  in  flesh  and 
blood,  put  there,  no  doubt,  by  Providence,  who  has  set  loath- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  all  evil  haunts.  He  walked  boldly 
into  the  saloon,  where  the  rattle  of  coin  brought  his  senses 
under  the  dazzling  spell  of  an  agony  of  greed.  Most  likely 
he  had  been  drawn  thither  by  that  most  convincing  of  Jean 
Jacques'  eloquent  periods,  which  expresses,  I  think,  this 
melancholy  thought,  "Yes,  I  can  imagine  that  a  man  may 
take  to  gambling  when  he  sees  only  bis  last  shilling  between 
him  and  death." 

There  is  an  illusion  about  a  gambling  saloon  at  night  aa 
vulgar  as  that  of  a  bloodthirsty  drama,  and  just  as  effective. 
The  rooms  are  filled  with  players  and  onlookers,  with  poverty- 
stricken  age,  which  drags  itself  thither  in  search  of  stimula- 
tion, with  excited  faces,  and  revels  that  began  in  wine,  to  end 
shortly  in  the  Seine.  The  passion  is  there  in  full  measure, 
but  the  great  number  of  the  actors  prevents  you  from  seeing 
the  gambling-demon  face  to  face.  The  evening  is  a  harmony 
or  chorus  in  which  all  take  part,  to  which  each  instrument 
in  the  orchestra  contributes  his  share.  You  would  see  there 
plenty  of  respectable  people  who  have  come  in  search  of  diver- 
sion, for  which  they  pay  as  they  pay  for  the  pleasures  of  the 
theatre,  or  of  gluttony,  or  they  come  hither  as  to  some  garret 
where  they  cheapen  poignant  regrets  for  three  months  to 
come. 

Do  you  understand  all  the  force  and  frenzy  in  a  soul  which 
impatiently  waits  for  the  opening  of  a  gambling  hell  ?  Be- 
tween the  daylight  gambler  and  the  player  at  night  there  is 


t  THB  MAGIC  SKIN 

the  game  difference  that  lies  between  a  careless  husband  and 
the  iover  swooning  under  his  lady's  window.  Only  with 
morning  comes  the  real  throb  of  the  passion  and  the  craving 
in  its  stark  horror.  Then  you  can  admire  the  real  gambler, 
who  has  neither  eaten,  slept,  thought,  nor  lived,  he  has  so 
emarted  under  the  scourge  of  his  martingale,  so  suffered  on 
the  rack  of  his  desire  for  a  coup  of  trente-et-quarante.  At 
that  accursed  hour  you  encounter  eyes  whose  calmness  terrifies 
you,  faces  that  fascinate,  glances  that  seem  as  if  they  had 
power  to  turn  the  cards  over  and  consume  them.  The  grand- 
est hours  of  a  gambling  saloon  are  not  the  opening  ones.  If 
Spain  has  bull-fights,  and  Home  once  had  her  gladiators,  Paris 
waxes  proud  of  her  Palais-Koyal,  where  the  inevitable 
roulettes  cause  blood  to  flow  in  streams,  and  the  public  can 
have  the  pleasure  of  watching  without  fear  of  their  feet 
slipping  in  it. 

Take  a  quiet  peep  at  the  arena.  How  bare  it  looks !  The 
paper  on  the  walls  is  greasy  to  the  height  of  your  head,  there 
is  nothing  to  bring  one  reviving  thought.  There  is  not  so 
much  as  a  nail  for  the  convenience  of  suicides.  The  floor  is 
worn  and  dirty.  An  oblong  table  stands  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  the  tablecloth  is  worn  by  the  friction  of  gold,  but 
the  straw-bottomed  chairs  about  it  indicate  an  odd  indiffer- 
ence to  luxury  in  the  men  who  will  lose  their  lives  here  in  the 
quest  of  the  fortune  that  is  to  put  luxury  within  their 
reach. 

This  contradiction  in  humanity  is  seen  wherever  the  soul 
reacts  powerfully  upon  itself.  The  gallant  would  clothe  his 
mistress  in  silks,  would  deck  her  out  in  soft  Eastern  fabrics, 
though  he  and  she  must  lie  on  a  truckle-bed.  The  ambitious 
dreamer  sees  himself  at  the  summit  of  power,  while  he 
slavishly  prostrates  himself  in  the  mire.  The  tradesman 
stagnates  in  his  damp,  unhealthy  shop,  while  he  builds  a 
great  mansion  for  his  son  to  inherit  prematurely,  only  to  be 
ejected  from  it  by  law  proceedings  at  his  own  brother's 
instance. 

After  all,  is  there  a  less  pleasing  thing  in  the  world  than 


THB  TALISMAN  5 

a  house  of  pleasure  ?  Singular  question !  Man  is  always  at 
Btrife  with  himself.  His  present  woes  give  the  lie  to  his 
hopes ;  yet  he  looks  to  a  future  which  is  not  his,  to  indemnify 
him  for  these  present  sufferings ;  setting  upon  all  his  actions 
the  seal  of  inconsequence  and  of  the  weakness  of  his  nature. 
We  have  nothing  here  below  in  full  measure  but  mis- 
fortune. 

There  were  several  gamblers  in  the  room  already  when  the 
young  man  entered.  Three  bald-headed  seniors  were  loung- 
ing round  the  green  table.  Imperturbable  as  diplomatists,  those 
plaster-cast  faces  of  theirs  betokened  blunted  sensibilities, 
and  hearts  which  had  long  forgotten  how  to  throb,  even  when 
a  woman's  dowry  was  the  stake.  A  young  Italian,  olive-hued 
and  dark-haired,  sat  at  one  end,  with  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
seeming  to  listen  to  the  presentiments  of  luck  that  dictate  a 
gambler's  "Yes"  or  "No."  The  glow  of  fire  and  gold  was  on 
that  southern  face.  Some  seven  or  eight  onlookers  stood, 
by  way  of  an  audience,  awaiting  a  drama  composed  of  the 
strokes  of  chance,  the  faces  of  the  actors,  the  circulation  of 
coin,  and  the  motion  of  the  croupiers  rake,  much  as  a  silent, 
motionless  crowd  watches  the  headsman  in  the  Place  de  Greve. 
A  tall,  thin  man,  in  a  threadbare  coat,  held  a  card  in  one  hand, 
and  a  pin  in  the  other,  to  mark  the  numbers  of  Red  or  Black. 
He  seemed  a  modern  Tantalus,  with  all  the  pleasures  of  his 
epoch  at  his  lips,  a  hoardless  miser  drawing  in  imaginary 
gains,  a  sane  species  of  lunatic  who  consoles  himself  in  his 
misery  by  chimerical  dreams,  a  man  who  touches  peril  and 
vice  as  a  young  priest  handles  the  unconsecrated  wafer  in 
the  white  mass. 

One  or  two  experts  at  the  game,  shrewd  speculators,  had 
placed  themselves  opposite  the  bank,  like  old  convicts  who 
have  lost  all  fear  of  the  hulks ;  they  meant  to  try  two  or  three 
coups,  and  then  to  depart  at  once  with  the  expected  gains,  on 
which  they  lived.  Two  elderly  waiters  dawdled  about  with 
their  arms  folded,  looking  from  time  to  time  into  the  garden 
from  the  windows,  as  if  to  show  their  insignificant  faces  as 
a  sign  to  passers-by. 


e  THE  MAGIC   SKIN 

The  croupier  and  banker  threw  a  ghastly  and  withering 
glance  at  the  punters,  and  cried,  in  a  sharp  voice,  "Make 
your  game  V  as  the  young  man  came  in.  The  silence  seemed 
to  grow  deeper  as  all  heads  turned  curiously  towards  the  new 
arrival.  Who  would  have  thought  it?  The  jaded  elders, 
the  fossilized  waiters,  the  onlookers,  the  fanatical  Italian 
himself,  felt  an  indefinable  dread  at  sight  of  the  stranger. 
Is  he  not  wretched  indeed  who  can  excite  pity  here?  Must 
he  not  be  very  helpless  to  receive  sympathy,  ghastly  in  ap- 
pearance to  raise  a  shudder  in  these  places,  where  pain  utters 
no  cry,  where  wretchedness  looks  gay,  and  despair  is  decorous  ? 
Such  thoughts  as  these  produced  a  new  emotion  in  these  torpid 
hearts  as  the  young  man  entered.  Were  not  executioners 
known  to  shed  tears  over  the  fair-haired,  girlish  heads  that 
had  to  fall  at  the  bidding  of  the  Eevolution  ? 

The  gamblers  saw  at  a  glance  a  dreadful  mystery  in  the 
novice's  face.  His  young  features  were  stamped  with  a 
melancholy  grace,  his  looks  told  of  unsuccess  and  many 
blighted  hopes.  The  dull  apathy  of  the  suicide  had  made  hia 
forehead  so  deadly  pale,  a  bitter  smile  carved  faint  lines  about 
the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  there  was  an  abandonment  about 
him  that  was  painful  to  see.  Some  sort  of  demon  sparkled 
in  the  depths  of  his  eye,  which  drooped,  wearied  perhaps 
with  pleasure.  Could  it  have  been  dissipation  that  had  set 
its  foul  mark  on  the  proud  face,  once  pure  and  bright,  and 
now  brought  low  ?  Any  doctor  seeing  the  yellow  circles  about 
his  eyelids,  and  the  color  in  his  cheeks,  would  have  set 
them  down  to  some  affectiou  of  the  heart  or  lungs,  while 
poets  would  have  attributed  them  to  the  havoc  brought  by 
the  search  for  knowledge  and  to  night-vigils  by  the  student's 
lamp. 

But  a  complaint  more  fatal  than  any  disease,  a  disease  more 
merciless  than  genius  or  study,  had  drawn  this  young  face, 
and  had  wrung  a  heart  which  dissipation,  study,  and  sickness 
had  scarcely  disturbed.  When  a  notorious  criminal  is  taken 
to  the  convict's  prison,  the  prisoners  welcome  him  respectfully, 
and  these  evil  spirits  in  human  shape,  experienced  in  torments. 


THE  TALISMAN  f 

bowed  before  an  unheard-of  anguish.  By  the  depth  of  the 
wound  which  met  their  eyes,  they  recognized  a  prince  among 
them,  by  the  majesty  of  his  unspoken  irony,  by  the  refined 
wretchedness  of  his  garb.  The  frock-coat  that  he  wore  was 
well  cut,  but  his  cravat  was  on  terms  so  intimate  with  his 
waistcoat  that  no  one  could  suspect  him  of  underlinen.  His 
hands,  shapely  as  a  woman's,  were  not  perfectly  clean;  for 
two  days  past  indeed  he  had  ceased  to  weir  gloves.  If  the  veryj 
croupier  and  the  waiters  shaddered,  it  was  because  some 
traces  of  the  spell  of  innocence  yet  hung  about  his  meagre, 
delicately-shaped  form,  and  his  scanty  fair  hair  in  its  natural 
curls. 

He  looked  only  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  any 
trace  of  vice  in  his  face  seemed  to  be  there  by  accident.  A 
young  constitution  still  resisted  the  inroads  of  lubricity. 
Darkness  and  light,  annihilation  and  existence,  seemed  to 
struggle  in  him,  with  effects  of  mingled  beauty  and  terror. 
There  he  stood  like  some  erring  angel  that  has  lost  his  radi- 
ance; and  these  emeritus-professors  of  vice  and  shame  were 
ready  to  bid  the  novice  depart,  even  as  some  toothless  crone 
might  be  seized  with  pity  for  a  beautiful  girl  who  offers  her- 
self up  to  infamy. 

The  young  man  went  straight  up  to  the  table,  and,  as  he 
stood  there,  flung  down  a  piece  of  gold  which  he  held  in  hia 
hand,  without  deliberation.  It  rolled  on  to  the  Black;  then, 
as  strong  natures  can,  he  looked  calmly,  if  anxiously,  at  the 
croupier,  as  if  he  held  useless  subterfuges  in  scorn. 

The  interest  this  coup  awakened  was  so  great  that  the  old 
gamesters  laid  nothing  upon  it ;  only  the  Italian,  inspired  by 
a  gambler's  enthusiasm,  smiled  suddenly  at  some  thought, 
and  punted  his  heap  of  coin  against  the  stranger's  stake. 

The  banker  forgot  to  pronounce  the  phrases  that  use  and 
wont  have  reduced  to  an  inarticulate  cr\' — "Make  your 
game.  ,  .  .  The  game  is  made.  .  .  .  Bets  are  closed." 
The  croupier  spread  out  the  cards,  and  seemed  to  wish  luck 
to  the  newcomer,  indifferent  as  he  was  to  the  losses  or  gains 
of  those  who  took  part  in  these  sombre  pleasures.     Every  by- 


8  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

stander  thought  he  saw  a  drama,  the  closing  scene  of  a  noble 
life,  in  the  fortunes  of  that  bit  of  gold ;  and  eagerly  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  prophetic  cards ;  but  however  closely  they  watched 
the  young  man,  they  could  discover  not  the  least  sign  of  feel- 
ing on  his  cool  but  restless  face. 

"Even!  red  wins,''  said  the  croupier  officially.  A  dumb 
sort  of  rattle  came  from  the  Italian's  throat  when  he  saw 
the  folded  notes  that  the  banker  showered  upon  him,  one 
after  another.  The  young  man  only  understood  his  calamity 
when  the  croupier's  rake  was  extended  to  sweep  away  his  last 
napoleon.  The  ivory  touched  the  coin  with  a  little  click, 
as  it  swept  it  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  into  the  heap  of  gold 
before  the  bank.  The  stranger  turned  pale  at  the  lips,  and 
softly  shut  his  eyes,  but  he  unclosed  them  again  at  once,  and 
the  red  color  returned  as  he  affected  the  airs  of  an  English- 
man, to  whom  life  can  offer  no  new  sensation,  and  disappeared 
without  the  glance  full  of  entreaty  for  compassion  that  a 
desperate  gamester  will  often  give  the  bystanders.  How 
much  can  happen  in  a  second's  space;  how  many  things 
depend  on  a  throw  of  the  die ! 

"That  was  his  last  cartridge,  of  course,"  said  the  croupier, 
smiling  after  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  he  picked 
up  the  coin  between  his  finger  and  thumb  and  held  it  up. 

"He  is  a  cracked  brain  that  will  go  and  drown  himself," 
said  a  frequenter  of  the  place.  He  looked  round  about  at  the 
other  players,  who  all  knew  each  other. 

"Bah !"  said  a  waiter,  as  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"If  we  had  but  followed  Ms  example,"  said  an  old  gamestei^ 
to  the  others,  as  he  pointed  out  the  Italian. 

Everybody  looked  at  the  lucky  player,  whose  hands  shook 
as  he  counted  his  bank-notes. 

"A  voice  seemed  to  whisper  to  me,"  he  said.  "The  luck 
is  sure  to  go  against  that  young  man's  despair." 

"He  is  a  new  hand,"  said  the  banker,  "or  he  would  have 
divided  his  money  into  three  parts  to  give  himself  more 
chance." 

The  young  man  went  out  without  asking  for  his  hat;  but 


THE  TALISMAN  9 

the  old  watch-dog,  who  had  noted  its  shabby  condition,  re- 
turned it  to  him  without  a  word.  The  gambler  mechanically 
gave  up  the  tally,  and  went  downstairs  whistling  Di  tanti 
Palpiti  so  feebly,  that  he  himself  scarcely  heard  the  delicious 
notes. 

He  found  himself  immediately  under  the  arcades  of  the 
Palais-Eoyal,  reached  the  Eue  Saint  Honore,  took  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Tuileries,  and  crossed  the  gardens  with  an  un- 
decided step.  He  walked  as  if  he  were  in  some  desert,  elbowed 
'by  men  whom  be  did  not  see,  hearing  through  all  the  voices 
of  the  crowd  one  voice  alone — the  voice  of  Death.  He  was 
lost  in  the  thoughts  that  benumbed  him  at  last,  like  the 
criminals  who  used  to  be  taken  in  carts  from  the  Palais  de 
Justice  to  the  Place  de  Greve,  where  the  scaffold  awaited 
them  reddened  with  all  the  blood  spilt  there  since  1793. 

There  is  something  great  and  terrible  about  suicide.  Most 
people's  downfalls  are  not  dangerous;  they  are  like  children 
who  have  not  far  to  fall,  and  cannot  injure  themselves;  but 
when  a  great  nature  is  dashed  down,  he  is  bound  to  fall  from 
a  height.  He  must  have  been  raised  almost  to  the  skies ;  he 
has  caught  glimpses  of  some  heaven  beyond  his  reach. 
Vehement  must  the  storms  be  which  compel  a  soul  to  seek 
for  peace  from  the  trigger  of  a  pistol. 

How  much  young  power  starves  and  pines  away  in  a  garret 
for  want  of  a  friend,  for  lack  of  a  woman's  consolation,  in 
the  midst  of  millions  of  fellow-creatures,  in  the  presence  of 
a  listless  crowd  that  is  burdened  by  its  wealth!  When  one 
remembers  all  this,  suicide  looms  large.  Between  a  self- 
sought  death  and  the  abundant  hopes  whose  voices  call  a 
young  man  to  Paris,  God  only  knows  what  may  intervene; 
what  contending  ideas  have  striven  within  the  soul;  what 
poems  have  been  set  aside;  what  moans  and  what  despair 
have  been  repressed ;  what  abortive  masterpieces  and  vain  en- 
deavors !  Every  suicide  is  an  awful  poem  of  sorrow.  Where 
will  you  find  a  work  of  genius  floating  above  the  seas  of 
literature  that  can  compare  with  this  paragraph: 


10  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"Yesterday,  at  four  o'clock,  a  young  woman  threw  herself 
into  the  Seine  from  the  Pont  des  Arts." 

Dramas  and  romances  pale  before  this  concise  Parisian 
phrase ;  so  must  even  that  old  frontispiece,  The  Lamentations 
of  the  glorious  king  of  Kaernavan,  put  in  prison  by  his 
children,  the  sole  remaining  fragment  of  a  lost  work  that  drew 
tears  from  Sterne  at  the  bare  perusal — the  same  Sterne  who 
deserted  his  own  wife  and  family. 

The  stranger  was  beset  with  such  thoughts  as  these,  which 
passed  in  fragments  through  his  mind,  like  tattered  flags 
fluttering  above  the  combat.  If  he  set  aside  for  a  moment 
the  burdens  of  consciousness  and  of  memory,  to  watch  the 
flower  heads  gently  swayed  by  the  breeze  among  the  green 
thickets,  a  revulsion  came  over  him,  life  struggled  against  the 
oppressive  thought  of  suicide,  and  his  eyes  rose  to  the  sky: 
gray  clouds,  melancholy  gusts  of  the  wind,  the  stormy 
atmosphere,  all  decreed  that  he  should  die. 

He  bent  his  way  toward  the  Pont  Royal,  musing  over  the 
last  fancies  of  others  who  had  gone  before  him.  He  smiled  to 
himself  as  he  remembered  that  Lord  Castlereagh  had  satisned 
the  humblest  of  our  needs  before  he  cut  his  throat,  and  that 
the  academician  Auger  had  sought  for  his  snuff-box  as  he 
went  to  his  death.  He  analyzed  these  extravagances,  and  even 
examined  himself;  for  as  he  stood  aside  against  the  parapet 
to  allow  a  porter  to  pass,  his  coat  had  been  whitened  somewhat 
by  the  contact,  and  he  carefully  brushed  the  dust  from  his 
sleeve,  to  his  own  surprise.  He  reached  the  middle  of  the 
arch,  and  looked  forebodingly  at  the  water. 

"Wretched  weather  for  drowning  yourself,"  said  a  ragged 
old  woman,  who  grinned  at  him;  "isn't  the  Seine  cold  and 
dirty?" 

His  answer  was  a  ready  smile,  which  showed  the  frenzied 
nature  of  his  courage ;  then  he  shivered  all  at  once  as  he  saw 
at  a  distaiice,  by  the  door  of  the  Tuileries,  a  shed  with  an  in- 
scription above  it  in  letters  twelve  inches  high:  The  Royal 
Humane  Society's  Apparatus. 

A  vision  of  M.  Dacheux  rose  before  him,  equipped  by  his 


THE  TALISMAN  11 

philanthropy,  calling  out  and  setting  in  motion  the  too 
efficacious  oars  which  break  the  heads  of  drowning  men,  if 
unluckily  they  should  rise  to  the  surface;  he  saw  a  curious 
crowd  collecting,  running  for  a  doctor,  preparing  fumiga- 
tions; he  read  the  maundering  paragraph  in  the  papers,  put 
between  notes  on  a  festivity  and  on  the  smiles  of  a  ballet- 
dancer;  he  heard  the  francs  counted  down  by  the  prefect  of 
police  to  the  watermen.  As  a  corpse,  he  was  worth  fifteen 
francs;  but  now  while  he  lived  he  was  only  a  man  of  talent 
without  patrons,  without  friends,  without  a  mattress  to  lie 
on,  or  any  one  to  speak  a  word  for  him — a  perfect  social 
cipher,  useless  to  a  State  which  gave  itself  no  trouble  about 
him. 

A  death  in  broad  daylight  seemed  degrading  to  him;  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  die  at  night  so  as  to  bequeath  an  un- 
recognizable corpse  to  a  world  which  had  disregarded  the 
greatness  of  life.  He  began  his  wanderings  again,  turning 
towards  the  Quai  Voltaire,  imitating  the  lagging  gait  of  an 
idler  seeking  to  kill  time.  As  he  came  down  the  steps  at 
the  end  of  the  bridge,  his  notice  was  attracted  by  the  second- 
hand books  displayed  on  the  parapet,  and  he  was  on  the  point 
of  bargaining  for  some.  He  smiled,  thrust  his  hands 
philosophically  into  his  pockets,  and  fell  to  strolling  on 
again  with  a  proud  disdain  in  his  manner,  when  he 
heard  to  his  surprise  some  coin  rattling  fantastically  in  his 
pocket. 

A  smile  of  hope  lit  his  face,  and  slid  from  his  lips  over  his 
features,  over  his  brow,  and  brought  a  Joyful  light  to  his  eyes 
and  his  dark  cheeks.  It  was  a  spark  of  happiness  like  one 
of  the  red  dots  that  flit  over  the  remains  of  a  burnt  scrap  of 
paper;  but  as  it  is  with  the  black  ashes,  so  it  was  with  his 
face,  it  became  dull  again  when  the  stranger  quickly  drew 
out  his  hand  and  perceived  three  pennies.  "Ah,  kind  gentle- 
man! carita,  carita:  for  the  love  of  St.  Catherine!  only  a 
halfpenny  to  buy  some  bread !" 

A  little  chimney  sweeper,  with  puffed  cheeks,  all  black  with 


12  THE  MAGIC  isKIN 

soot,  and  clad  in  tatters,  held  out  his  hand  to  beg  for  the 
man's  last  pence. 

Two  paces  from  the  little  Savoyard  stood  an  old  pauvre 
honteux,  sickly  and  feeble,  in  wretched  garments  of  ragged 
druggeting,  who  asked  in  a  thick,  muffled  voice : 

"Anything  you  like  to  give,  monsieur;  I  will  pray  to  God 
for  you    .     .     ." 

,     But  the  young  man  turned  his  e3'es  on  him,  and  the  old 
i  beggar  stopped  without  another  word,  discerning  in  that 
mournful  face  an  abandonment  of  wretchedness  more  bitter 
than  his  own. 

"La  carita!  la  carita!" 

The  stranger  threw  the  coins  to  the  old  man  and  the  child, 
left  the  footway,  and  turned  towards  the  houses ;  the  harrow- 
ing sight  of  the  Seine  fretted  him  beyond  endurance. 

"May  God  lengthen  your  days  !"  cried  the  two  beggars. 

As  he  reached  the  shop  window  of  a  print-seller,  this  man 
on  the  brink  of  death  met  a  young  woman  alighting  from  a 
showy  carriage.  He  looked  in  delight  at  her  prettiness,  at 
the  pale  face  appropriately  framed  by  the  satin  of  her  fash- 
ionable bonnet.  Her  slender  form  and  graceful  movements 
entranced  him.  Her  skirt  had  been  slightly  raised  as  she 
stepped  to  the  pavement,  disclosing  a  daintily  fitting  white 
stocking  over  the  delicate  outlines  beneath.  The  young  lady 
went  into  the  shop,  purchased  albums  and  sets  of  lithographs ; 
giving  several  gold  coins  for  them,  which  glittered  and  rang 
upon  the  counter.  The  young  man,  seemingly  occupied  with 
the  prints  in  the  window,  fixed  upon  the  fair  stranger  a  gaze 
as  eager  as  man  can  give,  to  receive  in  exchange  an  indiffer- 
ent glance,  such  as  lights  by  accident  on  a  passer-by.  For 
him  it  was  a  leave-taking  of  love  and  of  woman ;  but  his  final 
and  strenuous  questioning  glance  was  neither  understood  nor 
felt  by  the  slight-natured  woman  there;  her  color  did  not 
rise,  her  eyes  did  not  droop.  What  was  it  to  her?  one 
more  piece  of  adulation,  yet  another  sigh  only  prompted 
the  delightful  thought  at  night,  "I  looked  rather  well  to- 
day." 


THE  TALISMAN  13 

The  young  man  quickly  turned  to  another  picture,  and  only 
left  it  when  she  returned  to  her  carriage.  The  horses  started 
off,  the  final  vision  of  luxury  and  refinement  went  under  an 
eclipse,  just  as  that  life  of  his  would  soon  do  also.  Slowly 
and  sadly  he  followed  the  line  of  the  shops,  listlessly  ex- 
amining the  specimens  on  view.  When  the  shops  came  to 
an  end,  he  reviewed  the  Louvre,  the  Institute,  the  towers  of. 
Notre  Dame,  of  the  Palais,  the  Pont  des  Arts ;  all  these  public 
monuments  seemed  to  have  taken  their  tone  from  the  heavy 
gray  sky. 

Fitful  gleams  of  light  gave  a  foreboding  look  to  Paris ;  like 
a  pretty  woman,  the  city  has  mysterious  fits  of  ugliness  or 
beauty.  So  the  outer  world  seemed  to  be  in  a  plot  to  steep  this 
man  about  to  die  in  a  painful  trance.  A  prey  to  the  maleficent 
power  which  acts  relaxingly  upon  us  by  the  fluid  circulating 
through  our  nerves,  his  whole  frame  seemed  gradually  to  ex- 
perience a  dissolving  process.  He  felt  the  anguish  of  these 
throes  passing  through  him  in  waves,  and  the  houses  and 
the  crowd  seemed  to  surge  to  and  fro  in  a  mist  before  his 
eyes.  He  tried  to  escape  the  agitation  wrought  in  his  mind 
by  the  revulsions  of  his  physical  nature,  and  went  toward  the 
shop  of  a  dealer  in  antiquities,  thinking  to  give  a  treat  to  his 
senses,  and  to  spend  the  interval  till  nightfall  in  bargaining 
over  curiosities. 

He  sought,  one  might  say,  to  regain  courage  and  to  find 
a  stimulant,  like  a  criminal  who  doubts  his  power  to  reach  the 
scaffold.  The  consciousness  of  approaching  death  gave  him, 
for  the  time  being,  the  intrepidity  of  a  duchess  with  a  couple 
of  lovers,  so  that  he  entered  the  place  with  an  abstracted  look, 
while  his  lips  displayed  a  set  smile  like  a  drunkard's.  Had 
not  life,  or  rather  had  not  death,  intoxicated  him?  Dizzi- 
ness soon  overcame  him  again.  Things  appeared  to  him  in 
strange  colors,  or  as  making  slight  movements ;  his  irregular 
pulse  was  no  doubt  the  cause ;  the  blood  that  sometimes  rushed 
like  a  burning  torrent  through  his  veins,  and  sometimes  lay 
torpid  and  stagnant  as  tepid  water.  He  merely  asked  leave  to 
see  if  the  shop  contained  any  curiosities  which  he  required. 


14  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

A  plump-faced  young  shopman  with  red  hair,  in  an  otter- 
skin  cap,  left  an  old  peasant  woman  in  charge  of  the  shop— 
a  sort  of  feminine  Caliban,  employed  in  cleaning  a  stove  made 
marvelous  by  Bernard  Palissy's  work.  This  youth  remarked 
carelessly : 

"Look  round,  monsieur!  We  have  nothing  very  remark- 
able here  downstairs ;  but  if  I  may  trouble  you  to  go  up  to  the 
first  floor,  I  will  show  you  some  very  fine  mummies  from 
Cairo,  some  inlaid  pottery,  and  some  carved  ebony — genuine 
Renaissance  work,  just  come  in,  and  of  perfect  beauty/' 

In  the  stranger's  fearful  position  this  cicerone's  prattle  and 
shopman's  empty  talk  seemed  like  the  petty  vexations  by 
which  narrow  minds  destroy  a  man  of  genius.  But  as  he 
must  even  go  through  with  it,  he  appeared  to  listen  to  his 
guide,  answering  him  by  gestures  or  monosyllables;  but  im- 
perceptibly he  arrogated  the  privilege  of  saying  nothing,  and 
gave  himself  up  without  hindrance  to  his  closing  meditations, 
which  were  appalling.  He  had  a  poet's  temperament,  his  mind 
had  entered  by  chance  on  a  vast  field;  and  he  must  see  per- 
force the  dry  bones  of  twenty  future  worlds. 

At  a  first  glance  the  place  presented  a  confused  picture  in 
which  every  achievement,  human  and  divine,  was  mingled. 
Crocodiles,  monkeys,  and  serpents  stuffed  with  straw  grinned 
at  glass  from  church  windows,  seemed  to  wish  to  bite 
sculptured  heads,  to  chase  lacquered  work,  or  to  scramble  up 
chandeliers.  A  Sevres  vase,  bearing  Napoleon's  portrait  by 
Mme.  Jacotot,  stood  beside  a  sphinx  dedicated  to  Sesostris. 
The  beginnings  of  the  world  and  the  events  of  yesterday  were 
mingled  with  grotesque  cheerfulness.  A  kitchen  jack  leaned 
against  a  pyx,  a  republican  sabre  on  a  medieval  hackbut. 
Mme.  du  Barry,  with  a  star  above  her  head,  naked,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  cloud,  seemed  to  look  longingly  out  of  Latour's 
pastel  at  an  Indian  chibook,  while  she  tried  to  guess  the  pur- 
pose of  the  spiral  curves  that  wound  towards  her.  Instru- 
ments of  death,  poniards,  curious  pistols,  and  disguised 
weapons  had  been  flung  down  pell-mell  among  the  parapher- 
nalia of  daily  life;  porcelain  tureens,  Dresden  plates,  trans- 


THE  TALISMAN  15 

lucent  cups  from  China,  old  salt-cellars,  comfit-boxes  belong- 
ing to  feudal  times.  A  carved  ivory  ship  sped  full  sail  on  the 
back  of  a  motionless  tortoise. 

The  Emperor  Augustus  remained  unmoved  and  imperial 
with  an  air-pump  thrust  into  one  eye.  Portraits  of  French 
sheriffs  and  Dutch  burgomasters,  phlegmatic  now  as  when  in 
life,  looked  down  pallid  and  unconcerned  on  the  chaos  of  past 
ages  below  them. 

Every  land  of  earth  seemed  to  have  contributed  some  stray 
fragment  of  its  learning,  some  example  of  its  art.  Nothing 
seemed  lacking  to  this  philosophical  kitchen-midden,  from  a 
redskin's  calumet,  a  green  and  golden  slipper  from  the 
seraglio,  a  Moorish  yataghan,  a  Tartar  idol,  to  the  soldier's 
tobacco  pouch,  to  the  priest's  ciborium,  and  the  plumes  that 
once  adorned  a  throne.  This  extraordinary  combination  was 
rendered  yet  more  bizarre  by  the  accidents  of  lighting,  by  a 
multitude  of  confused  reflections  of  various  hues,  by  the 
sharp  contrast  of  blacks  and  whites.  Broken  cries  seemed  to 
reach  the  ear,  unfinished  dramas  seized  upon  the  imagina- 
tion, smothered  lights  caught  the  eye.  A  thin  coating  of  in- 
evitable dust  covered  all  the  multitudinous  corners  and  con- 
volutions of  these  objects  of  various  shapes  which  gave  highly 
picturesque  effects. 

First  of  all,  the  stranger  compared  the  three  galleries 
which  civilization,  cults,  divinities,  masterpieces,  dominions, 
carousals,  sanity,  and  madness  had  filled  to  repletion,  to  a 
mirror  with  numerous  facets,  each  depicting  a  world.  After 
this  first  hazy  idea  he  would  fain  have  selected  his  pleasures ; 
but  by  dint  of  using  his  eyes,  thinking  and  musing,  a  fever 
began  to  possess  him,  caused  perhaps  by  the  gnawing  pain  of 
hunger.  The  spectacle  of  so  much  existence,  individual  or 
national,  to  which  these  pledges  bore  witness,  ended  by 
numbing  his  senses — the  purpose  with  which  he  entered  the 
shop  was  fulfilled.  He  had  left  the  real  behind,  and  had 
climbed  gradually  up  to  an  ideal  world ;  he  had  attained  to 
the  encnanted  palace  of  ecstasy,  whence  the  universe  appeared 


b  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

to  him  by  fragments  and  in  shapes  of  flame,  as  once  the  future 
blazed  out  before  the  eyes  of  St.  John  in  Patmos. 

A  crowd  of  sorrowing  faces,  beneficent  and  appalling,  dark 
and  luminous,  far  and  near,  gathered  in  numbers,  in  myriads, 
in  whole  generations.  Egypt,  rigid  and  mysterious,  arose 
from  her  sands  in  the  form  of  a  mummy  swathed  in  black 
bandages ;  then  the  Pharaohs  swallowed  up  nations,  that  they 
might  build  themselves  a  tomb ;  and  he  beheld  Moses  and  the 
Hebrews  and  the  desert,  and  a  solemn  antique  world.  Fresh 
and  joyous,  a  marble  statue  spoke  to  him  from  a  twisted 
column  of  the  pleasure-loving  myths  of  Greece  and  Ionia. 
Ah !  who  would  not  have  smiled  with  him  to  see,  against  the 
earthen  red  background,  the  brovni-f  aced  maiden  dancing  with 
gleeful  reverence  before  the  god  Priapus,  wrought  in  the  fine 
clay  of  an  Etruscan  vase?  The  Latin  queen  caressed  her 
chimera. 

The  whims  of  Imperial  Eome  were  there  in  life,  the  bath 
was  disclosed,  the  toilette  of  a  languid  Julia,  dreaming,  wait- 
ing for  her  Tibullus.  Strong  with  the  might  of  Arabic  spells, 
the  head  of  Cicero  evoked  memories  of  a  free  Rome,  and  un- 
rolled before  him  the  scrolls  of  Titus  Livius.  The  young  man 
beheld  Senatus  Populusque  Romanus;  consuls,  iictors,  togas 
with  purple  fringes ;  the  fighting  in  the  Forum,  the  angry  peo- 
ple, passed  in  review  before  him  like  the  cloudy  faces  of  a 
dream. 

Then  Christian  Eome  predominated  in  his  vision.  A 
painter  had  laid  heaven  open;  he  beheld  the  Virgin 
Mary  wrapped  in  a  golden  cloud  among  the  angels,  shining 
more  brightly  than  the  sun,  receiving  the  prayers  of  sufferers, 
on  whom  this  second  Eve  Eegenerate  smiles  pityingly.  At 
the  touch  of  a  mosaic,  made  of  various  lavas  from  Vesuvius 
and  Etna,  his  fancy  fled  to  the  hot  tawny  south  of  Italy.  He 
was  present  at  Borgia's  orgies,  he  roved  among  the  Abruzzi, 
sought  for  Italian  love  intrigues,  grew  ardent  over  pale  faces 
and  dark,  almond-shaped  eyes.  He  shivered  over  midnight 
adventures,  cut  short  by  the  cool  thrust  of  a  jealous  blade,  as 


THE  TALISMAN  17 

he  saw  a  mediaeval  dagger  with  a  hilt  wrought  like  lace,  and 
Bpots  of  rust  like  splashes  of  blood  upon  it. 

India  and  its  religions  took  the  shape  of  the  idol  with  his 
peaked  cap  of  fantastic  form,  with  little  bells,  clad  in  silk 
and  gold.  Close  by,  a  mat,  as  pretty  as  the  bayadere  who  once 
lay  upon  it,  still  gave  out  a  faint  scent  of  sandal  wood.  His 
fancy  was  stirred  by  a  goggle-eyed  Chinese  monster,  with 
mouth  awry  and  twisted  limbs,  the  invention  of  a  people  who, 
grown  weary  of  the  monotony  of  beauty,  found  an  indescrib- 
able pleasure  in  an  infinite  variety  of  ugliness.  A  salt-cellar 
from  Benvenuto  Cellini's  workshop  carried  hiru  back  to  the 
Renaissance  at  its  height,  to  the  time  when  there  was  no  re- 
straint on  art  or  morals,  when  torture  was  the  sport  of 
sovereigns;  and  from  their  councils,  churchmen  with 
courtesans'  arms  about  them  issued  decrees  of  chastity  for 
simple  priests. 

On  a  cameo  he  saw  the  conquests  of  Alexander,  the  mas- 
sacres of  Pizarro  in  a  matchbox,  and  religious  wars  disorderly, 
fanatical,  and  cruel,  in  the  shadows  of  a  helmet.  Joyous 
pictures  of  chivalry  were  called  up  by  a  suit  of  Milanese 
armor,  brightly  polished  and  richly  wrought ;  a  paladin's  eyes 
seemed  to  sparkle  yet  under  the  visor. 

This  sea  of  inventions,  fashions,  furniture,  works  of  art 
and  fiascos,  made  for  him  a  poem  without  end.  Shapes 
and  colors  and  projects  all  lived  again  for  him,  but  his  mind 
received  no  clear  and  perfect  conception.  It  was  the  poet's 
task  to  complete  the  sketches  of  the  great  master,  who  had 
scornfully  mingled  on  his  palette  the  hues  of  the  numberless 
vicissitudes  of  human  life.  When  the  world  at  large  at  last 
released  him,  when  he  had  pondered  over  many  lands,  many 
epochs,  and  various  empires,  the  young  man  came  back  to  the 
life  of  the  individual.  He  impersonated  fresh  characters, 
and  turned  his  mind  to  details,  rejecting  the  life  of  nations 
as  a  burden  too  overwhelming  for  a  single  soul. 

Yonder  was  a  sleeping  child  modeled  in  wax,  a  relic  of 
Ruvsch's  collection,  an  enchanting  creation  which  brought 
back  the  happiness  of  his  own  childhood.     The  cotton  gar- 


18  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

ment  of  a  Tahitian  maid  next  fascinated  him ;  he  beheld  the 
primitive  life  of  nature,  the  real  modesty  of  naked  chastity, 
the  Joys  of  an  idleness  natural  to  mankind,  a  peaceful  fate  by 
a  slow  river  of  sweet  water  under  a  plantain  tree  that  bears  its 
pleasant  manna  without  the  toil  of  man.  Then  all  at  once  he 
became  a  corsair,  investing  himself  with  the  terrible  poetry 
that  Lara  has  given  to  the  part :  the  thought  came  at  the  sight 
of  the  mother-of-pearl  tints  of  a  myriad  sea-shells,  and  grew 
as  he  saw  madrepores  redolent  of  the  sea-weeds  and  the^ 
storms  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  sea  was  forgotten  again  at  a  distant  view  of  exquisite 
miniatures;  he  admired  a  precious  missal  in  manuscript, 
adorned  with  arabesques  in  gold  and  blue.  Thoughts  of 
peaceful  life  swayed  him;  he  devoted  himself  afresh  to  study 
and  research,  longing  for  the  easy  life  of  the  monk,  devoid 
alike  of  cares  and  pleasures ;  and  from  the  depths  of  his  cell 
he  looked  out  upon  the  meadows,  woods,  and  vineyards  of  his 
convent.  Pausing  before  some  work  of  Teniers,  he  took  for 
his  own  the  helmet  of  the  soldier  or  the  poverty  of  the  artisan ; 
he  wished  to  wear  a  smoke-begrimed  cap  with  these  Flemings, 
to  drink  their  beer  and  Join  their  game  at  cards,  and  smiled 
upon  the  comely  plumpness  of  a  peasant  woman.  He  shivered 
at  a  snowstorm  by  Mieris ;  he  seemed  to  take  part  in  Salvator 
Rosa's  battle-piece ;  he  ran  his  fingers  over  a  tomahawk  from 
Illinois,  and  felt  his  own  hair  rise  as  he  touched  a  Cherokee 
scalping-knife.  He  marveled  over  the  rebec  that  he  set  in  the 
hands  of  some  lady  of  the  land,  drank  in  the  musical  notes  of 
her  ballad,  and  in  the  twilight  by  the  gothic  arch  above  the 
hearth  he  told  his  love  in  a  gloom  so  deep  that  he  could  not 
read  his  answer  in  her  eyes. 

He  caught  at  all  delights,  at  all  sorrows;  grasped  at  ex- 
istenee  in  every  form ;  and  endowed  the  phantoms  conjured  up 
from  that  inert  and  plastic  material  so  liberally  with  his  own 
life  and  feelings,  that  the  sound  of  his  own  footsteps  reached 
him  as  if  from  another  world,  or  as  the  hum  of  Paris  reaches 
the  towers  of  Notre  Dame. 

He  ascended  the  inner  staircase  which  led  to  the  first  floor, 


THE  TALISMAN  19 

with  its  votive  shields,  panoplies,  carved  shrines,  and  figures 
on  the  wall  at  every  step.  Haunted  by  the  strangest  shapes, 
by  marvelous  creations  belonging  to  the  borderland  betwixt 
life  and  death,  he  walked  as  if  under  the  spell  of  a  dream. 
His  own  existence  became  a  matter  of  doubt  to  him ;  he  was 
neither  wholly  alive  nor  dead,  like  the  curious  objects  about 
him.  The  light  began  to  fade  as  he  reached  the  show-rooms, 
but  the  treasures  of  gold  and  silver  heaped  up  there  scarcely 
seemed  to  need  illumination  from  without.  The  most  ex- 
travagant whims  of  prodigals,  who  have  run  through  millions 
to  perish  in  garrets,  had  left  their  traces  here  in  this  vast  bazar 
of  human  follies.  Here,  beside  a  writing  desk,  made  at  the 
cost  of  100,000  francs,  and  sold  for  a  hundred  pence,  lay  a 
lock  with  a  secret  worth  a  king^s  ransom.  The  human  race 
was  revealed  in  all  the  grandeur  of  its  wretchedness;  in  all 
the  splendor  of  its  infinite  littleness.  An  ebony 
table  that  an  artist  might  worship,  carved '  after  Jean 
Goujon's  designs,  in  years  of  toil,  had  been  purchased  perhaps 
at  the  price  of  firewood.  Precious  caskets,  and  things  that 
fairy  hands  might  have  fashioned,  lay  there  in  heaps  like 
rubbish. 

"You  must  have  the  worth  of  millions  here!"  cried  the 
young  man  as  he  entered  the  last  of  an  immense  suite  of 
rooms,  all  decorated  and  gilt  by  eighteenth  century  artists. 

"Thousands  of  millions,  you  might  say,"  said  the  florid 
shopman;  "but  you  have  seen  nothing  as  yet.  Go  up  to  the 
third  floor,  and  you  shall  see  I" 

The  stranger  followed  his  guide  to  a  fourth  gallery,  where 
one  by  one  there  passed  before  his  wearied  eyes  several 
pictures  by  Poussin,  a  magnificent  statue  by  Michael  Angelo, 
enchanting  landscapes  by  Claude  Lorraine,  a  Gerard  Dow 
(like  a  stray  page  from  Sterne),  Eembrandts,  Murillos,  and 
pictures  by  Velasquez,  as  dark  and  full  of  color  as  a  poem 
of  B3rron's;  then  came  classic  bas-reliefs,  finely-cut  agates, 
wonderful  cameos !  Works  of  art  upon  works  of  art,  till  the 
craftsman's  skill  palled  on  the  mind, masterpiece  after  master- 
piece till  art  itself  became  hateful  at  last  and  enthusiasm  died. 


20  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

He  came  upon  a  Madonna  by  Eaphael,  but  he  was  tired  of 
Eaphael;  a  figure  by  Correggio  never  received  the  glance  it 
demanded  of  him,  A  priceless  vase  of  antique  porphyry 
carved  round  about  with  pictures  of  the  most  grotesquely 
wanton  of  Eoman  divinities,  the  pride  of  some  Corinna, 
scarcely  drew  a  smile  from  him. 

The  ruins  of  fifteen  hundred  vanished  years  oppressed  him ; 
he  sickened  under  all  this  human  thought;  felt  bored  by  all 
this  luxury  and  art.  He  struggled  in  vain  against  the  con- 
stantly renewed  fantastic  shapes  that  sprang  up  from  under 
his  feet,  like  children  of  some  sportive  demon. 

Are  not  fearful  poisons  set  up  in  the  soul  by  a  swift  concen- 
tration of  all  her  energies,  her  enjoyments,  or  ideas;  as 
modern  chemistry,  in  its  caprice,  repeats  the  action  of  creation 
by  some  gas  or  other  ?  Do  not  many  men  perish  under  the 
shock  of  the  sudden  expansion  of  some  moral  acid  within 
them  ? 

"What  is  there  in  that  box?"  he  inquired,  as  he  reached  a 
large  closet — final  triumph  of  human  skill,  originality, 
wealth,  and  splendor,  in  which  there  hung  a  large,  square 
mahogany  coffer,  suspended  from  a  nail  by  a  silver  chain. 

"Ah,  monsieur  keeps  the  key  of  it,"  said  the  stout  assist- 
ant mysteriously.  "If  you  wish  to  see  the  portrait,  T  will 
gladly  venture  to  tell  him." 

"Venture!"  said  the  young  man;  "then  is  your  master  a 
prince  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  he  is,"  the  other  answered.  Equally? 
astonished,  each  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  other.  Then 
construing  the  stranger's  silence  as  an  order,  the  apprentice 
left  him  alone  in  the  closet. 

Have  you  never  launched  into  the  immensity  of  time  and 
space  as  you  read  the  geological  writings  of  Cuvier  ?  Carried 
by  his  fancy,  have  you  hung  as  if  suspended  by  a  magician's 
wand  over  the  illimitable  abyss  of  the  past  ?  When  the  fossil 
bones  of  animals  belonging  to  civilizations  before  the  Flood 
are  turned  up  in  bed  after  bed  and  layer  upon  layer  of  the 
quarries  of  Montmartre  or  among  the  schists  of  the  UraJ 


THE  TALISMAN  21 

range,  the  soul  receives  with  dismay  a  glimpse  of  millions 
of  peoples  forgotten  by  feeble  human  memory  and  un- 
recognized by  permanent  divine  tradition,  peoples  whose  ashes 
cover  our  globe  with  two  feet  of  earth  that  yields  bread  to  us 
and  flowers. 

Is  not  Cuvier  the  great  poet  of  our  era  ?  Byron  has  given 
admirable  expression  to  certain  moral  conflicts,  but  our  im- 
mortal naturalist  has  reconstructed  past  worlds  from  a  few 
bleached  bones; has  rebuilt  cities,  like  Cadmus,  with  monsters' 
teeth;  has  animated  forests  with  all  the  secrets  of  zoology 
gleaned  from  a  piece  of  coal;  has  discovered  a  giant  popula- 
tion from  the  footprints  of  a  mammoth.  These  forms  stand 
erect,  grow  large,  and  fill  regions  commensurate  with  their 
giant  size.  He  treats  figures  like  a  poet;  a  naugh't  set  reside 
a  seven  by  him  produces  awe. 

He  can  call  up  nothingness  before  you  without  the  phrases 
of  a  charlatan.  He  searches  a  lump  of  gypsum,' finds  an  im- 
pression in  it,  says  to  you,  "Behold  !"  All  at  once  marble 
takes  an  animal  shape,  the  dead  come  to  life,  the  history  of 
the  world  is  laid  open  before  you.  After  countless  dynasties  of 
giant  creatures,  races  of  fish  and  clans  of  mollusks,  the  race 
of  man  appears  at  last  as  the  degenerate  copy  of  a  splendid 
model,  wliich  the  Creator  has  perchance  destroyed.  Em- 
boldened by  his  gaze  into  the  past,  this  petty  race,  children 
of  yesterday,  can  overstep  chaos,  can  raise  a  psalm  without 
end,  and  outline  for  themselves  the  story  of  the  Universe  in 
an  Apocalypse  that  reveals  the  past.  After  the  tremendous 
resurrection  that  took  place  at  the  voice  of  this  man,  the  little 
drop  in  the  nameless  Infinite,  common  to  all  the  spheres,  that 
is  ours  to  use,  and  that  we  call  Time,  seems  to  us  a  pitiable 
moment  of  life.  We  ask  ourselves  the  purpose  of  our 
triumphs,  our  hatreds,  our  loves,  overwhelmed  as  we  are  by 
the  destruction  of  so  many  past  universes,  and  whether  it  is 
worth  while  to  accept  the  pain  of  life  in  order  that  hereafter 
we  may  become  an  intangible  speck.  Then  we  remain  as  if 
dead,  completely  torn  away  from  the  present  till  the  valet  de 


22  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

chamhre  comes  in  and  says,  "Madame  la  comtesse  answers 
that  she  is  expecting  monsieur." 

All  the  wonders  which  had  brought  the  known  world  before 
■the  young  man's  mind  wrought  in  his  soul  much  the  same 
feeling  of  dejection  that  besets  the  philosopher  investigating 
^  unknown  creatures.  He  longed  more  than  ever  for  death  as 
he  flung  himself  back  in  a  curule  chair  and  let  his  eyes  wander 
across  the  illusions  composing  a  panorama  of  the  past.  The 
pictures  seemed  to  light  up,  the  Virgin's  heads  smiled  on  him, 
the  statues  seemed  alive.  Everything  danced  and  swayed 
around  him,  with  a  motion  due  to  the  gloom  and  the  tor- 
menting fever  that  racked  his  brain;  each  monstrosity 
grimaced  at  him,  while  the  portraits  on  the  canvas  closed  their 
eyes  for  a  little  relief.  Every  shape  seemed  to  tremble  and 
start,  and  to  leave  its  place  gravely  or  flippantly,  gracefully 
or  awkwardly,  according  to  its  fasliion,  character,  and  sur- 
roundings. 

A  mysterious  Sabbath  began,  rivaling  the  fantastic  scenes 
witnessed  by  Faust  upon  the  Brocken.  But  these  optical  illu- 
sions, produced  by  weariness,  overstrained  eyesight,  or  the  ac- 
cidents of  twilight,  could  not  alarm  the  stranger.  The  terrors 
of  life  had  no  power  over  a  soul  grown  familiar  with  the 
terrors  of  death.  He  even  gave  himself  up,  half  amused  by 
its  bizarre  eccentricities,  to  the  influence  of  this  moral 
galvanism;  its  phenomena,  closely  connected  with  his  last 
thoughts,  assured  him  that  he  was  still  alive.  The  silence 
about  him  was  so  deep  that  he  embarked  once  more  in  dreams 
that  grew  gradually  darker  and  darker  as  if  by  magic,  as 
the  light  slowly  faded.  A  last  struggling  ray  from  the 
sun  lit  up  rosy  answering  lights.  He  raised  his  head  and 
jsaw  a  skeleton  dimly  visible,  with  its  skull  bent  doubtfully 
'to  one  side,  as  if  to  say,  "The  dead  will  none  of  thee  as 

yet." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  to  shake  off  the 
drowsiness,  and  felt  a  cold  breath  of  air  as  an  unknown  furry 
something  swept  past  his  cheeks.  He  shivered.  A  muffled 
clatter  of  the  windows  followed ;  it  was  a  bat,  he  fancied,  that 


THE  TALISMAN  23 

had  ^ven  him  this  chilly  sepulchral  caress.  He  could  yet 
dimly  see  for  a  moment  the  shapes  that  surrounded  him,  by 
the  vague  light  in  the  west ;  then  all  these  inanimate  objects 
were  blotted  out  in  uniform  darkness.  Night  and  the  hour 
of  death  had  suddenly  come.  Thenceforward,  for  a  while,  he 
lost  consciousness  of  the  things  about  him;  he  was  either 
buried  in  deep  meditation  or  sleep  overcame  him,  brought  on. 
by  weariness  or  by  the  stress  of  those  many  thoughts  that 
lacerated  his  heart. 

Suddenly  he  thought  that  an  awful  voice  called  him  by 
name ;  it  was  like  some  feverish  nightmare,  when  at  a  step  the 
dreamer  falls  headlong  over  into  an  abyss,  and  he  trembled. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  dazzled  by  bright  rays  from  a  red  circle  of 
light  that  shone  out  from  the  shadows.  In  the  midst  of  the 
circle  stood  a  little  old  man  who  turned  the  light  of  the  lamp 
upon  him,  yet  he  had  not  heard  him  enter,  nor  move,  nor 
speak.  There  was  something  magical  about  the  apparition. 
The  boldest  man,  awakened  in  such  a  sort,  would  have  felt 
alarmed  at  the  sight  of  this  figure,  which  might  have  issued 
from  some  sarcophagus  hard  by. 

A  curiously  youthful  look  in  the  unmoving  eyes  of  the 
spectre  forbade  the  idea  of  anything  supernatural ;  but  for  all 
that,  in  the  brief  space  between  his  dreaming  and  waking 
life,  the  young  man's  judgment  remained  philosophically  sus- 
pended, as  Descartes  advises.  He  was,  in  spite  of  himself, 
under  the  influence  of  an  unaccountable  hallucination,  a 
mystery  that  our  pride  rejects,  and  that  our  imperfect  science 
vainly  tries  to  resolve. 

Imagine  a  short  old  man,  thin  and  spare,  in  a  long  black 
velvet  go^Ti  girded  round  him  by  a  thick  silk  cord.  His 
long  white  hair  escaped  on  either  side  of  his  face  from  under  a 
black  velvet  cap  which  closely  fitted  his  head  and  made  a 
formal  setting  for  his  countenance.  His  gown  enveloped  his 
body  like  a  winding  sheet,  so  that  all  that  was  left  visible  was  » 
narrow  bleached  human  face.  But  for  the  wasted  arm,  thin  as 
a  draper's  wand,  which  held  aloft  the  lamp  that  cast  all  its 
light  upon  him,  the  face  would  have  seemed  to  hang  in  mid 


24  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

air.  ^  A  gray  pointed  beard  concealed  the  chin  of  this  fan- 
tastical  appearance,  and  gave  him  tlie  look  of  one  of  those 
Jewish  types  which  serve  artists  as  models  for  Moses.  Hi3 
lips  were  so  thin  and  colorless  that  it  needed  a  close  inspection 
to  find  the  lines  of  his  mouth  at  all  in  the  pallid  face.  His 
great  wrinkled  brow  and  hollow  bloodless  cheeks,  the  in- 
exorably stern  expression  of  his  small  green  eyes  that  no 
longer  possessed  eyebrows  or  lashes,  might  have  convinced  the 
stranger  that  Gerard  Dow's  "Money  Changer"  had  come  down 
from  his  frame.  The  craftiness  of  an  inquisitor,  revealed  in 
those  curving  wrinkles  and  creases  that  wound  about  his 
temples,  indicated  a  profound  knowledge  of  life.  There  was 
no  deceiving  this  man,  who  seemed  to  possess  a  power  of  de- 
tecting the  secrets  of  the  wariest  heart. 

The  wisdom  and  the  moral  codes  of  every  people  seemed 
gathered  up  in  his  passive  face,  just  as  all  the  productions  of 
the  globe  had  been  heaped  up  in  his  dusty  showrooms.  He 
seemed  to  possess  the  tranquil  luminous  vision  of  some  god 
before  whom  all  things  are  open,  or  the  haughty  power  of  a 
man  who  knows  all  things. 

With  two  strokes  of  the  brush  a  painter  could  have  so 
altered  the  expression  of  this  face,  that  what  had  been  a  serene 
representation  of  the  Eternal  Father  should  change  to  the 
sneering  mask  of  a  Mephistopheles ;  for  though  sovereign 
power  was  revealed  by  the  forehead,  mocking  folds  lurked 
about  the  mouth.  He  must  have  sacrificed  all  the  joys  of 
earth,  as  he  had  crushed  all  huinan  sorrows  beneath  his 
potent  will.  The  man  at  the  brink  of  death  shivered  at  the 
thought  of  the  life  led  by  this  spirit,  so  solitary  and  remote 
from  our  world;  joyless,  since  he  had  no  one  illusion  left; 
painless,  because  pleasure  had  ceased  to  exist  for  him.  There 
he  stood,  motionless  and  serene  as  a  star  in  a  bright  mist. 
His  lamp  lit  up  the  obscure  closet,  just  as  his  green  eyes, 
with  their  quiet  malevolence,  seemed  to  shed  a  light  on  the 
moral  world. 

This  was  the  strange  spectacle  that  startled  the  young  man's 
returning  sight,  as  he  shook  off  the   dreamy  fancies   and 


THE  TALISMAN  25 

thoughts  of  death  that  had  lulled  him.  An  instant  of  dismay, 
a  momentary  return  to  belief  in  nursery  tales,  may  be  for- 
given him,  seeing  that  his  senses  were  obscured.  Much  thought 
had  wearied  his  mind,  and  his  nerves  were  exhausted  wdth 
the  strain  of  the  tremendous  drama  within  him,  and  by  the 
scenes  that  had  heaped  on  him  all  the  horrid  pleasures  that  a 
piece  of  opium  can  produce. 

But  this  apparition  had  appeared  in  Paris,  on  the  Quai 
Voltaire,  and  in  the  nineteenth  century;  the  time  and  place 
made  sorcery  impossible.  The  idol  of  French  scepticism  had 
died  in  the  house  just  opposite,  the  disciple  of  Gay-Lussac  and 
Arago,  who  had  held  the  charlatanism  of  intellect  in  con- 
tempt. And  yet  the  stranger  submitted  himself  to  the  in- 
j&uence  of  an  imaginative  spell,  as  all  of  us  do  at  times,  when 
we  wish  to  escape  from  an  inevitable  certaint}'-,  or  to  tempt 
the  power  of  Providence.  So  some  mysterious  apprehension 
of  a  strange  force  made  him  tremble  before  the  old  man  with 
the  lamp.  All  of  us  have  been  stirred  in  the  same  way  by  the 
siglitof  K'apoleon,or  of  some  other  great  man,  made  illustrious 
by  his  genius  or  by  fame. 

"You  wish  to  see  Eaphael's  portrait  of  Jesus  Christ,  mon- 
sieur?" the  old  man  asked  politely.  There  was  something 
metallic  in  the  clear,  sharp  ring  of  his  voice. 

He  set  the  lamp  upon  a  broken  column,  so  that  all  its  light 
might  fall  on  the  brown  case. 

At  the  sacred  names  of  Christ  and  Eaphael  the  young  man 
showed  some  curiosity.  The  merchant,  who  no  doubt  looked 
for  this,  pressed  a  spring,  and  suddenly  the  mahogany  panel 
slid  noiselessly  back  in  its  groove,  and  discovered  the  can- 
vas to  the  stranger's  admiring  gaze.  At  sight  of  tliis  death- 
less creation,  he  forgot  his  fancies  in  the  show-rooms  and  the 
freaks  of  his  dreams,  and  became  himself  again.  The  old 
man  became  a  being  of  flesh  and  blood,  very  much  alive, 
with  nothing  chimerical  about  him,  and  took  up  his  existence 
at  once  upon  solid  earth. 

The  sympathy  and  love,  and  the  gentle  serenity  in  the 
divine    face,    exerted    an   instant    sway    over    the   younger 


26  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

spectator.  Some  influence  falling  from  heaven  bade  cease 
the  burning  torment  that  consumed  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 
The  head  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind  seemed  to  issue  from 
among  the  shadows  represented  by  a  dark  background;  an 
aureole  of  light  shone  out  brightly  from  his  hair;  an  im- 
passioned belief  seemed  to  glow  through  him,  and  to  thrill 
every  feature.  The  word  of  life  had  just  been  uttered  by 
those  red  lips,  the  sacred  sounds  seemed  to  linger  still  in  the 
air;  the  spectator  besought  the  silence  for  those  captivating 
parables,  hearkened  for  them  in  the  future,  and  had  to  turn 
to  the  teachings  of  the  past.  The  untroubled  peace  of  the 
divine  eyes,  the  comfort  of  sorrowing  souls,  seemed  an  in- 
terpretation of  the  Evangel.  The  sweet  triumphant  smile 
revealed  the  secret  of  the  Catholic  religion,  which  sums  up 
all  things  in  the  precept,  "Love  one  another."  This  picture 
breathed  the  spirit  of  prayer,  enjoined  forgiveness,  overcame 
self,  caused  sleeping  powers  of  good  to  waken.  For  this 
work  of  Eaphael's  had  the  imperious  charm  of  music;  you 
were  brought  under  the  spell  of  memories  of  the  past;  his 
triumph  was  so  absolute  that  the  artist  was  forgotten.  The 
witchery  of  the  lamplight  heightened  the  wonder;  the  head 
seemed  at  times  to  flicker  in  the  distance,  enveloped  in 
cloud. 

"I  covered  the  surface  of  that  picture  with  gold  pieces," 
said  the  merchant  carelessly. 

"And  now  for  death !"  cried  the  young  man,  awakened 
from  his  musings.  His  last  thought  had  recalled  his 
fate  to  him,  as  it  led  him  imperceptibly  back  from  the  for- 
lorn hopes  to  which  he  had  clung. 

"Ah,  ha !  then  my  suspicions  were  well  founded !"  said  the 
other,  and  his  hands  held  the  young  man's  wrists  in  a  grip 
like  that  of  a  vice. 

The  younger  man  smiled  wearily  at  his  mistake,  and  said 
gently : 

"You,  sir,  have  nothing  to  fear;  it  is  not  your  life,  but 
my  own  that  is  in  question.  .  .  .  But  why  should  I  hide 
a  harmless  fraud?"  he  went  on,  after  a  look  at  the  anxious 


THE  TALISMAN  21 

old  maiL  *'l  came  to  see  your  treasures  to  while  away  the 
time  till  night  should  come  and  I  could  drown  myself  de- 
cently. Who  would  grudge  this  last  pleasure  to  a  poet  and 
a  man  of  science  ?" 

While  he  spoke,  the  jealous  merchant  watched  the  haggard 
face  of  his  pretended  customer  with  keen  eyes.  Perhaps 
the  mournful  tones  of  his  voice  reassured  him,  or  he  also 
read  the  dark  signs  of  fate  in  the  faded  features  that  had 
made  the  gamblers  shudder;  he  released  his  hands,  but,  with 
a  touch  of  caution,  due  to  the  experience  of  some  hundred 
years  at  least,  he  stretched  his  arm  out  to  a  sideboard  as  if 
to  steady  himself,  took  up  a  little  dagger,  and  said: 

"Have  you  been  a  supernumerary  clerk  of  the  Treasury  for 
three  years  without  receiving  any  perquisites  ?" 

The  stranger  could  scarcely  suppress  a  smile  as  he  shook 
his  head. 

"Perhaps  your  father  has  expressed  his  regret  for  your 
birth  a  little  too  sharply?     Or  have  you  disgraced  yourself?" 

"If  I  meant  to  be  disgraced,  I  should  live." 

"You  have  been  hissed  perhaps  at  the  Funambules?  Or 
you  have  had  to  compose  couplets  to  pay  for  your  mistress* 
funeral?  Do  you  want  to  be  cured  of  the  gold  fever?  Or 
to  be  quit  of  the  spleen?  For  what  blunder  is  your  life  a 
forfeit?" 

"You  must  not  look  among  the  common  motives  that  impel 
suicides  for  the  reason  of  my  death.  To  spare  myself  the 
task  of  disclosing  my  unheard-of  sufferings,  for  which 
language  has  no  name,  I  will  tell  you  this — that  I  am  in  the 
deepest,  most  humiliating,  and  most  cruel  trouble,  and,"  he 
went  on  in  proud  tones  that  harmonized  ill  with  the  words 
just  uttered,  "I  have  no  wish  to  beg  for  either  help 
or  sympathy." 

"Eh !  eh !" 

The  two  syllables  which  the  old  man  pronounced  resembled 
the  sound  of  a  rattle.     Then  he  went  on  thus : 

"Without  compelling  you  to  entreat  me,  without  making 
you  blush  for  it,  and  without  giving  you  so  much  as  a 


28  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

French  centime,  a  para  from  the  Levant,  a  German  heller,  a 
Eussian  kopeck,  a  Scottish  farthing,  a  single  oboius  or 
sestertius  from  the  ancient  world,  or  one  piastre  from  the 
new,  without  offering  you  anything  whatever  in  gold,  silver, 
or  copper,  notes  or  drafts,  I  will  make  you  richer,  more  power- 
ful, and  of  more  consequence  than  a  constitutional  king." 

The  younger  man  thought  that  the  older  was  in  his  dotage, 
and  waited  in  bewilderment  without  venturing  to  reply. 

"Turn  round,"  said  the  merchant,  suddenly  catching  up 
the  lamp  in  order  to  light  up  the  opposite  wall ;  "look  at  that 
leathern  skin,"  he  went  on. 

The  young  man  rose  abruptly,  and  showed  some  surprise 
at  the  sight  of  a  piece  of  shagreen  which  hung  on  the  wall 
behind  his  chair.  It  was  only  about  the  size  of  a  fox's  skin, 
but  it  seemed  to  fill  the  deep  shadows  of  the  place  with  such 
brilliant  rays  that  it  looked  like  a  small  comet,  an  appear- 
ance at  first  sight  inexplicable.  The  young  sceptic  went  up 
to  this  so-called  talisman,  which  was  to  rescue  him  from  his 
woes,  with  a  scoffing  phrase  in  his  thoughts.  Still  a  harmless 
curiosity  led  him  to  bend  over  it  and  look  at  it  from  all 
points  of  view,  and  he  soon  found  out  the  cause  of  its 
singular  brilliancy.  The  dark  grain  of  the  leather  had  been 
so  carefully  burnished  and  polished,  the  striped  mark- 
ings of  the  graining  were  so  sharp  and  clear,  that  every  par- 
ticle of  the  surface  of  the  bit  of  Oriental  leather  was  in  it- 
self a  focus  which  concentrated  the  light,  and  reflected  it 
vividly. 

He  accounted  for  this  phenomenon  categorically  to  the  old 
man,  who  only  smiled  meaningly  by  way  of  answer.  His 
superior  smile  led  the  young  scientific  man  to  fancy  that  he 
himself  had  been  deceived  by  some  imposture.  He  had  no 
wish  to  carry  one  more  puzzle  to  his  grave,  and  hastily  turned 
the  skin  over,  like  some  child  eager  to  find  out  the  mysteries 
of  a  new  toy. 

"Ah,"  he  cried,  "here  is  the  mark  of  the  seal  which  they 
call  in  the  East  the  Signet  of  Solomon." 

"So  you  know  that,  then?"  asked  the  merchant.      His 


>S 


THE  TALISMAN  29 

peculiar  method  of  laughter,  two  or  three  quick  breathings 
through  the  nostrils,  said  more  than  any  words  however 
eloquent. 

"Is  there  anybody  in  the  world  simple  enough  to  believe 
in  that  idle  fancy?"  said  the  young  man,  nettled  by  the 
spitefulness  of  the  silent  chuckle.  "Don't  you  know/'  he 
continued,  "that  the  superstitions  of  the  East  have  per- 
.petuated  the  mystical  form  and  the  counterfeit  characters  of 
the  symbol,  which  represents  a  mythical  dominion?  I  have 
no  more  laid  myself  open  to  a  charge  of  credulity  in  this 
case,  than  if  I  had  mentioned  sphinxes  or  griffins,  whose  ex- 
istence mythology  in  a  manner  admits." 

"As  you  are  an  Orientalist,"  replied  the  other,  "perhaps 
you  can  read  that  sentence." 

He  held  the  lamp  close  to  the  talisman,  which  the  young 
man  held  towards  him,  and  pointed  out  some  characters  inlaid 
in  the  surface  of  the  wonderful  skin,  as  if  they  had  grown 
on  the  animal  to  which  it  once  belonged. 

"I  must  admit,"  said  the  stranger,  "that  I  have  no  idea 
how  the  letters  could  be  engraver'  so  deeply  on  the  skin  of  a 
wild  ass."  And  he  turned  quickly  to  the  tables  strewn  with 
curiosities  and  seemed  to  look  for  something. 

'^hat  is  it  that  you  want  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Something  that  will  cut  the  leather,  so  that  I  can  see 
whether  the  letters  are  printed  or  inlaid." 

The  old  man  held  out  his  stiletto.  The  stranger  took  it 
and  tried  to  cut  the  skin  above  the  lettering ;  but  when  he  had 
removed  a  thin  shaving  of  leather  from  them,  the  characters 
still  appeared  below,  so  clear  and  so  exactly  like  the  surface 
impression,  that  for  a  moment  he  was  not  sure  that  he  had 
cut  anything  away  after  all. 

"The  craftsmen  of  the  Levant  have  secrets  known  only  to 
themselves,'*  he  said,  half  in  vexation,  as  he  eyed  the  charac- 
ters of  this  Oriental  sentence. 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "it  is  better  to  attribute  it  to 
man's  agency  than  to  God's." 


30  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

The  mysterious  words  were  thus  arranged: 

(yC*  4-*  0^3 

\^Sa  ami  :>\j'\^ 

Or,  as  it  runs  in  English : 

POSSESSING   ME   THOU   SHALT   POSSESS  ALL   THINGS. 

BUT  THY  LIFE  IS  MINE,  FOR  GOD  HAS  SO  WILLED  IT. 

WISH^    AND    THY    WISHES    SHALL    BE    FULFILLED; 

BUT   MEASURE   THY   DESIRES,   ACCORDING 

TO    THE   LIFE    THAT   IS   IN    THEE. 

THIS   IS   THY   LIFE, 

WITH    EACH    WISH    I    MUST    SHRINK 

EVEN  AS  THY  OWN  DAYS. 

WILT  THOU  HAVE  ME  ?        TAKE  ME. 

GOD  WILL   HEARKEN   UNTO   THEE. 

SO  BE  IT  I 

"So  you  read  Sanskrit  fluently,"  said  the  old  man.  "You 
have  been  in  Persia  perhaps,  or  in  Bengal  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  felt  the  emblematical 
akin  curiously.     It  was  almost  as  rigid  as  a  sheet  of  metal. 


THE  TALISMAN  SI 

The  old  merchant  set  the  lamp  hack  again  upon  the 
column,  giving  the  other  a  look  as  he  did  so.  "He  has  given 
up  the  notion  of  dying  already,"  the  glance  said  with 
phlegmatic  irony. 

"Is  it  a  jest,  or  is  it  an  enigma  ?"  asked  the  younger  man. 

The  other  shook  his  head  and  said  soberly: 

"I  don't  know  how  to  answer  you.  I  have  offered  this 
talisman  with  its  terrible  powers  to  men  with  more  energy  in 
them  than  you  seem  to  me  to  have ;  but  though  they  laughed 
at  the  questionable  power  it  might  exert  over  their  futures, 
not  one  of  them  was  ready  to  venture  to  conclude  the  fateful 
contract  proposed  by  an  unknown  force.  I  am  of  their 
opinion,  I  have  doubted  and  refrained,  and " 

"Have  you  never  even  tried  its  power?"  interrupted  the 
young  stranger. 

"Tried  it!"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "Suppose  that  you 
were  on  the  column  in  the  Place  Vendome,  would  you  try 
flinging  yourself  into  space  ?  Is  it  possible  to  stay  the  course 
of  life  ?  Has  a  man  ever  been  known  to  die  by  halves  ?  Be- 
fore you  came  here,  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  kill  your- 
self, but  all  at  once  a  mystery  fills  your  mind,  and  you  think 
no  more  about  death.  You  child!  Does  not  any  one  day 
of  your  life  afford  mysteries  more  absorbing  ?  Listen  to  me. 
I  saw  the  licentious  days  of  Eegency.  I  was  like  you,  then, 
in  poverty;  I  have  begged  my  bread;  but  for  all  that,  I  am 
now  a  centenarian  with  a  couple  of  years  to  spare,  and  a  mill- 
ionaire to  boot.  Misery  was  the  making  of  me,  ignorance 
has  made  me  learned.  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words  the 
great  secret  of  human  life.  By  two  instinctive  processes  man 
exhausts  the  springs  of  life  within  him.  Two  verbs  cover 
all  the  forms  which  these  two  causes  of  death  may  take — 
To  Will  and  To  have  your  Will.  Between  these  two  limits 
of  human  activity  the  wise  have  discovered  an  intermediate 
formula,  to  which  I  owe  my  good  fortune  and  long  life.  To 
Will  consumes  us,  and  To  have  our  Will  destroys  us,  but  To 
Know  steeps  our  feeble  organisms  in  perpetual  calm.  In 
me  Thought  has  destroyed  Will,  so  that  Power  is  relegated  to 


82  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

the  ordinary  functions  of  my  economy.  In  a  word,  it  is  not 
in  the  heart  which  can  be  broken,  nor  in  the  senses  that  be- 
come deadened,  but  it  is  in  the  brain  that  cannot  waste 
away  and  survives  everything  else,  that  I  have  set  my  life. 
Moderation  has  kept  mind  and  body  unruffled.  Yet,  I  have 
seen  the  whole  world.  I  have  learned  all  languages,  lived 
after  every  manner.  I  have  lent  a  Chinaman  money,  taking 
his  father's  corpse  as  a  pledge,  slept  in  an  Arab's  tent  on 
the  security  of  his  bare  word,  signed  contracts  in  every 
capital  of  Europe,  and  left  my  gold  without  hesitation  in 
savage  wigwams.  I  have  attained  everything,  because  I  have 
known  how  to  despise  all  things. 

"My  one  ambition  has  been  to  see.  Is  not  Sight  in  a  man- 
ner Insight  ?  And  to  have  knowledge  or  insight,  is  not  that 
to  have  instinctive  possession?  To  be  able  to  discover  the 
very  substance  of  fact  and  to  unite  its  essence  to  our  essence  ? 
Of  material  possession  what  abides  with  you  but  an  idea? 
Think,  then,  how  glorious  must  be  the  life  of  a  man  who  can 
stamp  all  realities  upon  his  thought,  place  the  springs 
of  happiness  within  himself,  and  draw  thence  uncounted 
pleasures  in  idea,  unsoiled  by  earthly  stains.  Thought  is  a 
key  to  all  treasures;  the  miser's  gains  are  ours  without  his 
cares.  Thus  I  have  soared  above  this  world,  where  my  enjoy- 
ments have  been  intellectual  joys.  I  have  reveled  in  the 
contemplation  of  seas,  peoples,  forests,  and  mountains!  I 
have  seen  all  things,  calmly,  and  without  weariness;  I  have 
set  my  desires  on  nothing;  I  have  waited  in  expectation  of 
everything.  I  have  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  world  as  in 
a  garden  round  about  my  own  dwelling.  Troubles,  loves, 
ambitions,  losses,  and  sorrows,  as  men  call  them,  are  for  me 
ideas,  which  I  transmute  into  waking  dreams ;  I  express  and 
transpose  instead  of  feeling  them ;  instead  of  permitting  them 
to  prey  upon  my  life,  I  dramatize  and  expand  them ;  I  divert 
myself  with  them  as  if  they  were  romances  which  I  could  read 
by  the  power  of  vision  within  me.  As  I  have  never  overtaxed 
my  constitution,  I  still  enjoy  robust  health;  and  as  my  mind 
is  endowed  with  all  the  force  that  I  have  not  wasted,  this 


A  little  old  man  who  turned  the  light  of  the  lamp  upon  him 


THE  TALISMAN  33 

head  of  mine  is  even  better  furnished  than  my  galleries. 
The  true  millions  lie  here/'  he  said,  striking  his  forehead. 
"I  spend  delicious  days  in  communings  with  the  past ;  I  sum- 
mon before  me  whole  countries,  places,  extents  of  sea,  the 
fair  faces  of  history.  In  my  imaginary  seraglio  I  have  all 
the  women  that  I  have  never  possessed.  Your  wars  and  revo- 
lutions come  up  before  me  for  judgment.  What  is  a  feverish 
fugitive  admiration  for  some  more  or  less  brightly  colored 
piece  of  flesh  and  blood;  some  more  or  less  rounded  human 
form;  what  are  all  the  disasters  that  wait  on  your  erratic 
whims,  compared  with  the  magnificent  power  of  conjuring 
up  the  whole  world  within  your  soul,  compared  with  the  im- 
measurable joys  of  movement,  unstrangled  by  the  cords  of 
time,  unclogged  by  the  fetters  of  space;  the  joys  of  behold- 
ing all  things,  of  comprehending  all  things,  of  leaning  over 
the  parapet  of  the  world  to  question  the  other  spheres,  to 
hearken  to  the  voice  of  God?  There,"  he  burst  out, 
vehemently,  "there  are  To  Will  and  To  have  your  Will,  both 
together,"  he  pointed  to  the  bit  of  shagreen ;  "there  are  your 
social  ideas,  your  immoderate  desires,  your  excesses,  your 
pleasures  that  end  in  death,  your  sorrows  that  quicken  the  pace 
of  life,  for  pain  is  perhaps  but  a  violent  pleasure.  Who  could 
determine  the  point  where  pleasure  becomes  pain,  where  pain 
is  still  a  pleasure  ?  Is  not  the  utmost  brightness  of  the  ideal 
world  soothing  to  us,  while  the  lightest  shadows  of  the 
physical  world  annoy?  Is  not  knowledge  the  secret  of  wis- 
dom? And  what  is  folly  but  a  riotous  expenditure  of  Will 
or  Power  ?" 

"Very  good  then,  a  life  of  riotous  excess  for  me !"  said  the 
stranger,  pouncing  upon  the  piece  of  shagreen. 

**Young  man,  beware!"  cried  the  other  with  incredible 
vehemence.  < 

*T  had  resolved  my  existence  into  thought  and  study,"  the 
stranger  replied;  "and  yet  they  have  not  even  supported 
me.  I  am  not  to  be  gulled  by  a  sermon  worthy  of  Sweden- 
borg,  nor  by  your  Oriental  amulet,  nor  yet  by  your  charitable 
endeavors  to  keeu  me  in  a  world  wherein  existence  is  no 
3 


S4  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

longer  possible  for  me.  .  .  .  Let  me  see  now,"  he  added, 
clutching  the  talisman  convulsively,  as  he  looked  at  the  old 
man,  "I  wish  for  a  royal  banquet,  a  carouse  worthy  of  this 
century,  which,  it  is  said,  has  brought  everything  to  perfec- 
tion !  Let  me  have  young  boon  companions,  witty,  un- 
warped  by  prejudice,  merry  to  the  verge  of  madness !  Let 
one  wine  succeed  another,  each  more  biting  and  perfumed 
than  the  last,  and  strong  enough  to  bring  about  three  days 
of  delirium !  Passionate  women's  forms  should  grace  that 
night !  I  would  be  borne  away  to  unknown  regions  beyond 
the  confines  of  this  world,  by  the  car  and  four-winged  steed 
of  a  frantic  and  uproarious  orgy.  Let  us  ascend  to  the  skies, 
or  plunge  ourselves  in  the  mire.  I  do  not  know  if  one  soars 
or  sinks  at  such  moments,  and  I  do  not  care !  Next,  I  bid 
this  enigmatical  power  to  concentrate  all  delights  for  me  in 
one  single  joy.  Yes,  I  must  comprehend  every  pleasure  of 
earth  and  heaven  in  the  final  embrace  that  is  to  kill  me. 
Therefore,  after  the  wine,  I  wish  to  hold  high  festival  to 
Priapus,  with  songs  that  might  rouse  the  dead,  and  kisses 
without  end ;  the  sound  of  them  should  pass  like  the  crackling 
of  flame  through  Paris,  should  revive  the  heat  of  youth 
and  passion  in  husband  and  wife,  even  in  hearts  of  seventy 
years." 

A  laugh  burst  from  the  little  old  man.  It  rang  in  the 
young  man's  ears  like  an  echo  from  hell,  and  tyrannously  cut 
him  short.     He  said  no  more. 

"Do  you  imagine  that  my  floors  are  going  to  open  suddenly, 
so  that  luxuriously-appointed  tables  may  rise  through  them, 
and  guests  from  another  world?  No,  no,  young  madcap. 
You  have  entered  into  the  compact  now,  and  there  is  an  end 
of  it.  Henceforward,  your  wishes  will  be  accurately  fulfilled, 
but  at  the  expense  of  your  life.  The  compass  of  3^our  days, 
visible  in  that  skin,  will  contract  according  to  the  strength 
and  number  of  your  desires,  from  the  least  to  the  most  ex- 
travagant. The  Brahmin  from  whom  I  had  this  skin  once 
explained  to  me  that  it  would  bring  about  a  mysterious  con- 
nection between  the  fortunes  and  wishes  of  its  possessor. 


THE  TALISMAN  35 

Your  first  wish  is  a  vulgar  one,  which  I  could  fulfil,  but  I 
leave  that  to  the  issues  of  your  new  existence.  After  all,  you 
were  wishing  to  die;  very  well,  your  suicide  is  only  put  off 
for  a  time." 

The  stranger  was  surprised  and  irritated  that  this  peculiar 
old  man  persisted  in  not  taking  him  seriously.  A  half 
philanthropic  intention  peeped  so  clearly  forth  from  his  last 
jesting  observation,  that  he  exclaimed : 

"I  shall  soon  see,  sir,  if  any  change  conies  over  my  fortunes 
in  the  time  it  will  take  to  cross  the  width  of  the  quay.  But 
I  should  like  us  to  be  quits  for  such  a  momentous  service; 
that  is,  if  you  are  not  laugliing  at  an  unlucky  wretch,  so  I 
wish  that  you  may  fall  in  love  with  an  opera-dancer.  You 
would  understand  the  pleasures  of  intemperance  then,  and 
might  perhaps  grow  lavish  of  the  wealth  that  you  have  hus- 
banded so  philosophically.^' 

He  went  out  without  heeding  the  old  man's  heavy  sigh, 
went  back  through  the  galleries  and  down  the  staircase,  fol- 
lowed by  the  stout  assistant  who  vainly  tried  to  light  his  pas- 
sage; he  fled  with  the  haste  of  a  robber  caught  in  the  act. 
Blinded  by  a  kind  of  delirium,  he  did  not  even  notice  the 
unexpected  flexibility  of  the  piece  of  shagreen,  which  coiled 
itself  up,  pliant  as  a  glove  in  his  excited  fingers,  till  it  would 
go  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  where  he  mechanically  thrust 
it.  As  he  rushed  out  of  the  door  into  the  street,  he  ran 
up  against  three  young  men  who  were  passing  arm-in- 
arm. 

"Brute  r 

"Idiot  r 

Such  were  the  gratifying  expressions  exchanged  between 
them. 

"Why,  it  is  Eaphael !" 

"Good !  we  were  looking  for  you." 

"What!  it  is  you,  then?" 

These  three  friendly  exclamations  quickly  followed  the  in- 
sults, as  the  light  of  a  street  lamp,  flickering  in  the  wind, 
fell  upon  the  astonished  faces  of  the  group. 


86  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  must  come  with  us !"  said  the  young 
man  that  Eaphael  had  all  but  knocked  down. 

"What  is  all  this  about?" 

"Come  along,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  history  of  it  as  we 
go." 

By  fair  means  or  foul,  Eaphael  must  go  along  with  his 
friends  towards  the  Pont  des  Arts ;  they  surrounded  him,  and 
linked  him  by  the  arm  among  their  merry  band. 

"We  have  been  after  you  for  about  a  week,"  the  speaker 
went  on.  "At  your  respectable  hotel  de  Saint  Quentin, 
where,  by  the  way,  the  sign  with  the  alternate  black  and  red 
letters  cannot  be  removed,  and  hangs  out  just  as  it  did  in 
the  time  of  Jean  Jacques,  that  Leonarda  of  yours  told  us 
that  you  were  off  into  the  country.  For  all  that,  we  cer- 
tainly did  not  look  like  duns,  creditors,  sheriff's  officers,  or 
the  like.  But  no  matter !  Eastignac  had  seen  you  the  even- 
ing before  at  the  Bouffons ;  we  took  courage  again,  and  made 
it  a  point  of  honor  to^find  out  whether  you  were  roosting  in  a 
tree  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  or  in  one  of  those  philanthropic 
abodes  where  the  beggars  sleep  on  a  twopenny  rope,  or  if, 
more  luckily,  you  were  bivouacking  in  some  boudoir  or  other. 
We  could  not  find  you  anywhere.  Your  name  was  not  in  the 
jailers'  registers  at  the  St.  Pelagic  nor  at  La  Force !  Govern- 
ment departments,  cafes,  libraries,  lists  of  prefects'  names, 
newspaper  offices,  restaurants,  greenrooms — to  cut  it  short, 
every  lurking  place  in  Paris,  good  or  bad,  has  been  explored 
in  the  most  expert  manner.  We  bewailed  the  loss  of  a  man 
endowed  with  such  genius,  that  one  might  look  to  find  him 
either  at  Court  or  in  the  common  jails.  We  talked  of  canoniz- 
ing you  as  a  hero  of  July,  and,  upon  my  word,  we  regretted 
you !" 

As  he  spoke,  the  friends  were  crossing  the  Pont  des  Arts. 
Without  listening  to  them,  Eaphael  looked  at  the  Seine,  at 
the  clamoring  waves  that  reflected  the  lights  of  Paris.  Above 
that  river,  in  which  but  now  he  had  thought  to  fling  himself, 
the  old  man's  prediction  had  been  fulfilled,  the  hour  of  his 
death  had  been  already  put  back  by  fate. 


THE  TALISMAN  37 

'^e  really  regretted  you,"  said  his  friend,  still  pursuing 
his  theme.  "It  was  a  question  of  a  plan  in  which  we  included 
you  as  a  superior  person,  that  is  to  say,  somebody  who  can 
put  himself  above  other  people.  The  constitutional  thimble- 
rig  is  carried  on  to-day,  dear  boy,  more  seriously  than  ever. 
The  infamous  monarchy,  displaced  by  the  heroism  of  the  peo- 
ple, was  a  sort  of  drab,  you  could  laugh  and  revel  with  her; 
but  La  Patrie  is  a  shrewish  and  virtuous  wife,  and  willy- 
nilly  you  must  take  her  prescribed  endearments.  Then  be- 
sides, as  you  know,  authority  passed  over  from  the  Tuileries 
to  the  journalists,  at  the  time  when  the  Budget  changed  its 
quarters  and  went  from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  to  the 
Chaussee  d'Antin.  But  this  you  may  not  know  perhaps. 
The  Government,  that  is,  the  aristocracy  of  lawyers  and  bank- 
ers who  represent  the  country  to-day,  just  as  the  priests 
used  to  do  in  the  time  of  the  monarchy,  has  felt  the  necessity 
of  mystifying  the  worthy  people  of  France  with  a  few  new 
words  and  old  ideas,  like  philosophers  of  every  school,  and  all 
strong  intellects  ever  since  time  began.  So  now  Eoyalist- 
national  ideas  must  be  inculcated,  by  proving  to  us  that  it  is 
far  better  to  pay  twelve  million  francs,  thirty-three  centimes 
to  La  Patrie,  represented  by  Messieurs  Such-and-Such,  than  to 
pay  eleven  hundred  million  francs,  nine  centimes  to  a 
king  who  used  to  say  I  instead  of  we.  In  a  word,  a  journal, 
with  two  or  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  good,  at  the  back 
of  it,  has  just  been  started,  with  a  view  to  making  an  opposition 
paper  to  content  the  discontented,  without  prejudice  to  the 
national  government  of  the  citizen-king.  We  scoff  at  liberty 
as  at  despotism  now,  and  at  religion  or  incredulity  quite  im- 
partially. And  since,  for  us,  *^our  country'  means  a  capital 
where  ideas  circulate  and  are  sold  at  so  much  a  line,  a 
succulent  dinner  every  day,  and  the  play  at  frequent  intervals, 
where  profligate  women  swarm,  where  suppers  lust  on  into 
the  next  day,  and  light  loves  are  hired  by  the  hour  like  cabs ; 
and  since  Paris  will  always  be  the  most  adorable  of  all 
countries,  the  country  of  joy,  liberty,  wit,  pretty  women, 
mauvais  sujets,   and  good  wine;   where  the  truncheon  of 


38  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

authority  never  makes  itself  disagreeably  felt,  because  one  is 
so  close  to  those  who  wield  it, — we,  therefore,  sectaries  of  the 
god  Mephistopheles,  have  engaged  to  whitewash  tha  public 
mind,  to  give  fresh  costumes  to  the  actors,  to  put  a  new 
plank  or  two  in  the  government  booth,  to  doctor  doctrinaires, 
and  warm  up  old  Eepublicans,  to  touch  up  the  Bonapart- 
ists  a  bit,  and  revictual  the  Centre;  provided  that  we  are  al- 
lowed to  laugh  in  petto  at  both  kings  and  peoples,  to  think 
one  thing  in  the  morning  and  another  at  night,  and  to  lead 
a  merry  life  d  la  Panurge,  or  to  recline  upon  soft  cushions, 
mo7-e  orientali. 

"The  sceptre  of  this  burlesque  and  macaronic  kingdom," 
he  went  on,  "we  have  reserved  for  you ;  so  we  are  taking  you 
straightway  to  a  dinner  given  by  the  founder  of  the  said 
newspaper,  a  retired  banker,  who,  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to 
do  with  his  money,  is  going  to  buy  some  brains  with  it.  You 
will  be  welcomed  as  a  brother,  we  shall  hail  you  as  king  of 
these  free  lances  who  will  undertake  anything;  whose  per- 
spicacity discovers  the  intentions  of  Austria,  England,  or 
Eussia  before  either  Eussia,  Austria,  or  England  have  formed 
any.  Yes,  we  will  invest  you  with  the  sovereignty  of  those 
puissant  intellects  which  give  to  the  world  its  Mirabeaus, 
Talleyrands,  Pitts,  and  Metternichs — all  the  clever  Crispins 
who  treat  the  destinies  of  a  kingdom  as  gamblers'  stakes, 
just  as  ordinary  men  play  dominoes  for  hirschenwasser.  We 
have  given  you  out  to  be  the  most  vmdaunted  champion  who 
ever  wrestled  in  a  drinking-bout  at  close  quarters  with  the 
monster  called  Carousal,  whom  all  bold  spirits  wish  to  try  a 
/fall  with;  we  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  you  have  never 
yet  been  worsted.  I  hope  you  will  not  make  liars  of  us. 
Taillefer,  our  amphitryon,  has  undertaken  to  surpass  the  cir- 
cumscribed saturnalias  of  the  petty  modern  Lucullus.  He 
is  rich  enough  to  infuse  pomp  into  trifles,  and  style  and 
charm  into  dissipation.  .  .  Are  you  listening,  Eaphael?" 
asked  the  orator,  interrupting  himself. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  young  man,  less  surprised  by  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  wishes  than  by  the  natural  manner  in 
which  the  events  had  come  about. 


>S 


THE  TALISMAN  39 

He  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  in  magic,  but  he 
marveled  at  the  accidents  of  human  fate. 

^Tes,  you  say,  just  as  if  you  were  thinking  of  your  grand- 
father's demise,"  remarked  one  of  his  neighbors. 

"Ah !"  cried  Eaphael,  "I  was  thinking,  my  friends,  that  we 
are  in  a  fair  way  to  become  very  great  scoundrels,"  and  there 
was  an  ingenuousness  in  his  tones  that  set  these  writers,  the 
hope  of  young  France,  in  a  roar.  "So  far  our  blasphemies 
have  been  uttered  over  our  cups;  we  have  passed  our  judg- 
ments on  life  while  drunk,  and  taken  men  and  affairs  in  an 
after-dinner  frame  of  mind.  We  were  innocent  of  action ;  we 
were  bold  in  words.  But  now  we  are  to  be  branded  with  the 
hot  iron  of  politics ;  we  are  going  to  enter  the  convict's  prison 
and  to  drop  our  illusions.  Although  one  has  no  belief  left,  ex- 
cept in  the  devil,  one  may  regret  the  paradise  of  one's  youth 
and  the  age  of  innocence,  when  we  devoutly  offered  the  tip  of 
our  tongue  to  some  good  priest  for  the  consecrated  wafer  of  the 
sacrament.  Ah,  my  good  friends,  our  first  peccadilloes  gave 
us  so  much  pleasure  because  the  consequent  remorse  set  them 
off  and  lent  a  keen  relish  to  them ;  but  nowadays " 

"Oh!  now,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "there  is  still 
left " 

"What?"  asked  another. 

"Crime " 

"There  is  a  word  as  high  as  the  gallows  and  deeper  than 
the  Seine,"  said  Eaphael. 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand  me;  I  mean  political  crime. 
Since  this  morning,  a  conspirator's  life  is  the  only  one  I 
covet.  I  don't  know  that  the  fancy  will  last  over  to-morrow, 
but  to-night  at  least  my  gorge  rises  at  the  anasmic  life  of  our 
civilization  and  its  railroad  evenness.  I  am  seized  with  a 
passion  for  the  miseries  of  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  for  the 
excitements  of  the  Red  Corsair,  or  for  a  smuggler's  life.  I 
should  like  to  go  to  Botany  Bay,  as  we  have  no  Chartreuz 
left  us  here  in  France ;  it  is  a  sort  of  infirmary  reserved  for 
little  Lord  Byrons  who,  having  crumpled  up  their  lives  like 
a  serviette  after  dinner,  have  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  set  their 


<e, 


40  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

country  ablaze,  blow  their  own  brains  out,  plot  for  a  republic, 
or  clamor  for  a  war " 

"fimile,"  Raphael's  neighbor  called  eagerly  to  the  speaker, 
'on  my  honor,  but  for  the  revolution  of  July  I  would  have 
taken  orders,  and  gone  off  down  into  the  country  somewhere 
to  lead  the  life  of  an  animal,  and " 

"And  you  would  have  read  your  breviary  through  every, 
day/' 

"Yes." 

"You  are  a  coxcomb  I" 

"Why,  we  read  the  newspapers  as  it  is  V* 

"Not  bad  that,  for  a  journalist !  But  hold  your  tongue, 
we  are  going  through  a  crowd  of  subscribers.  Journalism, 
look  you,  is  the  religion  of  modern  society,  and  has  even  gone 
a  little  further.'^ 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Its  pontiffs  are  not  obliged  to  believe  in  it  any  more  than 
the  people  are." 

Chatting  thus,  like  good  fellows  who  have  known  their  De 
Viris  illustribus  for  years  past,  they  reached  a  mansion  in  the 
Eue  Joubert. 

Emile  was  a  journalist  who  had  acquired  more  reputation 
by  dint  of  doing  nothing  than  others  had  derived  from  their 
achievements.  A  bold,  caustic,  and  powerful  critic,  he  pos- 
sessed all  the  qualities  that  his  defects  permitted.  An  out- 
spoken giber,  he  made  numberless  epigrams  on  a  friend  to 
his  face;  but  would  defend  him,  if  absent,  with  courage  and 
loyalty.  He  laughed  at  everything,  even  at  his  own  career. 
Always  impecunious,  he  yet  lived,  like  all  men  of  his  calibre, 
plunged  in  unspeakable  indolence.  He  would  fling  some 
word  containing  whole  volumes  in  the  teeth  of  folk  who  could 
not  put  a  syllable  of  sense  into  their  books.  He  lavished 
promises  that  he  never  fulfilled ;  he  made  a  pillow  of  his  luck 
and  reputation,  on  which  he  slept,  and  ran  the  risk  of  waking 
up  to  old  age  in  a  workhouse.  A  steadfast  friend  to  the  gal- 
lows foot,  a  cynical  swaggerer  with  a  child's  simplicity,  a 
Worker  only  from  necessity  or  caprice. 


THE  TALISMAN  41 

"In  the  language  of  Maitre  Alcofribas,  we  are  about  to 
make  a  iamous  trongon  de  chiere  lie"  he  remarked  to  Raphael 
as  he  pointed  out  the  flower-stands  that  made  a  perfumed 
forest  of  the  staircase. 

"I  like  a  vestibule  to  be  well  warmed  and  richly  carpeted," 
Raphael  said.  "Luxury  in  the  peristyle  is  not  common  in 
France.     I  feel  as  if  life  had  begun  anew  here." 

"And  up  above  we  are  going  to  drink  and  make  merry  once 
more,  my  dear  Raphael.  Ah !  yes/'  he  went  on,  "and  I  hope 
we  are  going  to  come  off  conquerors,  too,  and  walk  over 
everybody  else's  head." 

As  he  spoke,  he  jestingly  pointed  to  the  guests.  They  were 
entering  a  large  room  which  shone  with  gilding  and  lights, 
and  there  all  the  younger  men  of  note  in  Paris  welcomed 
them.  Here  was  one  who  had  just  revealed  fresh  powers ;  his 
first  picture  vied  with  the  glories  of  Imperial  art.  There, 
another,  who  but  yesterday  had  launched  forth  a  volume,  an 
acrid  book  filled  with  a  sort  of  literary  arrogance,  which 
opened  up  new  ways  to  the  modem  school.  A  sculptor,  not 
far  away,  with  vigorous  power  visible  in  his  rough  features, 
was  chatting  with  one  of  those  unenthusiastic  scoffers  who  can 
either  see  excellence  anyw^here  or  nowhere,  as  it  happens. 
Here,  the  cleverest  of  our  caricaturists,  with  mischievous  eyes 
and  bitter  tongue,  lay  in  wait  for  epigrams  to  translate  into 
pencil  strokes;  there,  stood  the  young  and  audacious  writer, 
who  distilled  the  quintessence  of  political  ideas  better  than  any 
other  man,  or  compressed  the  work  of  some  prolific  writer  as 
he  held  him  up  to  ridicule;  he  was  talking  with  the  poet 
whose  works  would  have  eclipsed  all  the  writings  of  the  time 
if  his  ability  had  been  as  strenuous  as  his  hatreds.  Both 
were  trying  not  to  say  the  truth  while  they  kept  clear  of  lies, 
as  they  exchanged  flattering  speeches.  A  famous  musician 
administered  soothing  consolation  in  a  rallying  fashion,  to  a 
young  politician  who  had  just  fallen,  quite  unhurt,  from  his 
rostrum.  Young  writers  who  lacked  style  stood  beside  other 
young  writers  who  lacked  ideas,  and  authors  of  poetical  prose 
by  prosaic  poets. 


42  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

At  the  sight  of  all  these  incomplete  beings,  a  simple  Saint 
Simonian,  ingenuous  enough  to  believe  in  his  own  doctrine, 
charitably  paired  them  off,  designing,  no  doubt,  to  convert 
them  into  monks  of  his  order.  A  few  men  of  science  mingled 
in  the  conversation,  like  nitrogen  in  the  atmosphere,  and 
several  vaudevilUstes  shed  rays  like  the  sparkling  diamonds 
that  give  neither  light  nor  heat.  A  few  paradox-mongers, 
laughing  up  their  sleeves  at  any  folk  who  embraced  their  likes 
or  dislikes  in  men  or  affairs,  had  already  begun  a  two-edged 
policy,  conspiring  against  all  systems,  without  committing 
themselves  to  any  side.  Then  there  was  the  self-appointed 
critic  who  admires  nothing,  and  will  blow  his  nose  in  the 
n>iddle  of  a  cavatina  at  the  Bouffons,  who  applauds  before  any 
ope  else  begins,  and  contradicts  every  one  who  says  what  he 
hi-nself  was  about  to  say ;  he  was  there  giving  out  the  sayings 
of  wittier  men  for  his  own.  Of  all  the  assembled  guests,  a 
future  lay  before  some  five ;  ten  or  so  should  acquire  a  fleeting 
renown ;  as  for  the  rest,  like  all  mediocrities,  they  might  apply 
to  themselves  the  famous  falsehood  of  Louis  XVIII.,  Union 
and  oblivion. 

The  anxious  jocularity  of  a  man  who  is  expending  two  thou- 
sand crowns  sat  on  their  host.  His  eyes  turned  impatiently 
towards  the  door  from  time  to  time,  seeking  one  of  his  guests 
who  kept  him  waiting.  Very  soon  a  stout  little  person  ap- 
peared, who  was  greeted  by  a  complimentary  murmur;  it  was 
the  notary  who  had  invented  the  newspaper  that  very  morn- 
ing. A  valet-de-chambre  in  black  opened  the  doors  of  a  vast 
dining-room,  whither  every  one  went  without  ceremony,  and 
took  his  place  at  an  enormous  table. 

Eaphael  took  a  last  look  round  the  room  before  he  left  it. 
His  wish  had  been  realized  to  the  full.  The  rooms  were 
adorned  with  silk  and  gold.  Countless  wax  tapers  set  in 
handsome  candelabra  lit  up  the  slightest  details  of  gilded 
friezes,  the  delicate  bronze  sculpture,  and  the  splendid  colors 
of  the  furniture.  The  sweet  scent  of  rare  flowers,  set  in 
stands  tastefully  made  of  bamboo,  filled  the  air.  Ever}'thing, 
even  the  curtains,  was  pervaded  by  elegance  without  preten- 


THK  TALISMAN  13 

sion,  and  there  was  a  certain  imaginative  charm  about  it  all 
which  acted  like  a  spell  on  the  mind  of  a  needy  man. 

"An  income  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year  is  a  very 
nice  beginning  of  the  catechism,  and  a  wonderful  assistance 
to  putting  morality  into  our  actions,"  he  said,  sighing. 
*'Truly  my  sort  of  virtue  can  scarcely  go  afoot,  and  vice 
means,  to  my  thinking,  a  garret,  a  threadbare  coat,  a  gray 
hat  in  winter  time,  and  sums  owing  to  the  porter.  ...  J 
should  like  to  live  in  the  lap  of  luxury  a  year,  or  six  months, 
no  matter !  And  then  afterwards,  die.  I  should  have  known, 
exhausted,  and  consumed  a  thousand  lives,  at  any  rate.'^ 

"Why,  you  are  taking  the  tone  of  a  stockbroker  in  good 
luck,"  said  Emile,  who  overheard  him.  "Pooh !  3'^our  riches 
would  be  a  burden  to  you  as  soon  as  you  found  that  they  would 
spoil  j^our  chances  of  coming  out  above  the  rest  of  us.  Hasn't 
the  artist  always  kept  the  balance  true  between  the  poverty 
of  riches  and  the  riches  of  poverty?  And  isn't  struggle  a 
necessity  to  some  of  us?  Look  out  for  your  digestion,  and 
only  look,"  he  added,  with  a  mock-heroic  gesture,  "at  the 
majestic,  thrice  holy,  and  edifying  appearance  of  this  amiable 
capitalist's  dining-room.  That  man  has  in  reality  only  made 
his  money  for  our  benefit.  Isn't  he  a  kind  of  sponge  of  the 
polyp  order,  overlooked  by  naturalists,  which  should  be  care- 
fully squeezed  before  he  is  left  for  his  heirs  to  feed  upon? 
There  is  style,  isn't  there,  about  those  bas-reliefs  that  adorn 
the  walls?  And  the  lustres,  and  the  pictures,  what  luxury 
well  carried  out!  If  one  may  believe  those  who  envy  him, 
or  who  know,  or  think  they  know,  the  origins  of  his  life,  then 
this  man  got  rid  of  a  German  and  some  others — his  best 
friend  for  one,  and  the  mother  of  that  friend,  during  the 
Revolution.  Could  vou  house  crimes  under  the  venerable 
Taillefer's  silvering  locks?  He  looks  to  me  a  very  worthy 
man.  Only  see  how  the  silver  sparkles,  and  is  every  glitter- 
ing ray  like  the  stab  of  a  dagger  to  him?  .  .  .  Let  us 
go  in,  one  might  as  well  believe  in  Mahomet.  If  common  re- 
port speak  truth,  here  are  thirty  men  of  talent,  and  good  fel- 
lows too,  prepared  to  dine  off  the  flesh  and  blood  of  a  whols 


44  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

f annly ;  .  .  .  and  here  are  we  ourselveS;,  a  pair  of  yoxmg- 
sters  full  of  open-hearted  enthusiasm,  and  we  shall  be  par- 
takers in  his  guilt.  I  have  a  mind  to  ask  our  capitalist 
whether  he  is  a  respectable  character,     .     .     ." 

"No,  not  now/'  cried  Eaphael,  "but  when  he  is  dead  drunk, 
we  shall  have  had  our  dinner  then." 

,  The  two  friends  sat  down  laughing.  First  of  all,  by  a 
I  glance  more  rapid  than  a  word,  each  paid  his  tribute  of  ad- 
'  miration  to  the  splendid  general  effect  of  the  long  table,  white 
as  a  bank  of  freshly-fallen  snow,  with  its  symmetrical  line  of 
covers,  crowned  with  their  pale  golden  rolls  of  bread.  Rain- 
bow colors  gleamed  in  the  starry  rays  of  light  reflected  by  the 
glass ;  the  lights  of  the  tapers  crossed  and  recrossed  each  other 
indefinitely;  the  dishes  covered  with  their  silver  domes 
whetted  both  appetite  and  curiosity. 

Few  words  were  spoken.  Neighbors  exchanged  glances  as 
the  Maderia  circulated.  Then  the  first  course  appeared  in 
all  its  glory ;  it  would  have  done  honor  to  the  late  Cambaceres, 
Brillat-Savarin  would  have  celebrated  it.  The  Tidnes  of 
Bordeaux  and  Burgundy,  white  and  red,  were  royally  lavished. 
This  first  part  of  the  banquet  might  have  been  compared  in 
every  way  to  a  rendering  of  some  classical  tragedy.  The 
second  act  grew  a  trifle  noisier.  Every  guest  had  had  a  fair 
amount  to  drink,  and  had  tried  various  crus  at  his  pleasure, 
so  that  as  the  remains  of  the  magnificent  first  course  were 
removed,  tumultuous  discussions  began ;  a  pale  brow  here  and 
there  began  to  flush,  sundry  noses  took  a  purpler  hue,  faces 
lit  up,  and  eyes  sparkled. 

While  intoxication  was  only  dawning,  the  conversation  did 
not  overstep  the  bounds  of  civility;  but  banter  and  bon  mots 
slipped  by  degrees  from  every  tongue ;  and  then  slander  began^ 
to  rear  its  little  snake's  head,  and  spoke  in  dulcet  tones ;  a  few 
shrewd  ones  here  and  there  gave  heed  to  it,  hoping  to  keep 
their  heads.  So  the  second  course  found  their  minds  some- 
what heated.  Every  one  ate  as  he  spoke,  spoke  while  he  ate, 
and  drank  without  heeding  the  quantity  of  the  liquor,  the 
wine  was  so  biting,  the  bouquet  so  fragrant,  the  example 


THE  TALISMAN  45 

around  so  infectious.  Taillefer  made  a  point  of  stimulating 
his  guests,  and  plied  them  with  the  formidable  wines  of  the 
Ehone,  with  fierce  Tokay,  and  heady  old  Eoussillon. 

The  champagne,  impatiently  expected  and  lavishly  poured 
out,  was  a  scourge  of  fiery  sparks  to  these  men,  released  like 
post-horses  from  some  mail-coach  by  a  relay;  they  let  their 
spirits  gallop  away  into  the  wilds  of  argument  to  which  no  one 
listened,  began  to  tell  stories  which  had  no  auditors,  and  re- 
peatedly asked  questions  to  which  no  answer  was  made.  Only 
the  loud  voice  of  wassail  could  be  heard,  a  voice  made  up  of 
a  hundred  confused  clamors,  which  rose  and  grew  like  a 
crescendo  of  Eossini's.  Insidious  toasts,  swagger,  and  chal- 
lenges followed. 

Each  renounced  any  pride  in  his  own  intellectual  capacity, 
in  order  to  vindicate  that  of  hogsheads,  casks,  and  vats;  and 
each  made  noise  enough  for  two.  A  time  came  when  the 
footmen  smiled,  while  their  masters  all  talked  at  once.  A 
philosopher  would  have  been  interested,  doubtless,  by  the 
singularity  of  the  thoughts  expressed,  a  politician  would  have 
been  amazed  by  the  incongruity  of  the  methods  discussed  in 
the  melee  of  words  or  doubtfully  luminous  paradoxes,  where 
truths,  grotesquely  caparisoned,  met  in  conflict  across  the  up- 
roar of  brawling  judgments,  of  arbitrary  decisions  and  folly, 
much  as  bullets,  shells,  and  grapeshot  are  hurled  across  a 
battlefield. 

It  was  at  once  a  volume  and  a  picture.  Every  philosophy, 
religion,  and  moral  code  difi'ering  so  greatly  in  every  latitude, 
every  government,  every  great  achievement  of  the  human  in- 
tellect, fell  before  a  scythe  as  long  as  Time's  own ;  and  you 
might  have  found  it  hard  to  decide  whether  it  was  wielded 
by  Gravity  intoxicated,  or  by  Inebriation  grown  sober  and 
clear-sighted.  Borne  away  by  a  kind  of  tempest,  their  minds, 
like  the  sea  raging  against  the  cliffs,  seemed  ready  to  shake  the 
laws  which  confine  the  ebb  and  flow  of  civilization;  uncon- 
sciously fulfilling  the  will  of  God,  who  has  suffered  evil  and 
good  to  abide  in  nature,  and  reserved  the  secret  of  their  con- 
tinual strife  to  Himself.  A  frantic  travesty  of  debate  ensued. 


4(5  •  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

a  Walpurgis-revel  of  intellects.  Between  the  dreary  jests  oi 
these  children  of  the  Eevolution  over  the  inauguration  of  a 
newspaper,  and  the  talk  of  the  joyous  gossips  at  Gargantua's 
birth,  stretched  the  gulf  that  divides  the  nineteenth  century 
from  the  sixteenth.  Laughingly  they  had  begun  the  work  of 
destruction,  and  our  journalists  laughed  amid  the  ruins. 

'^hat  is  the  name  of  that  young  man  over  there?"  said 
the  notary,  indicating  Eaphael.  '''I  thought  I  heard  some  one 
call  him  Valentin." 

"What  stuff  is  this?"  said  fimile,  laughing;  "plain 
Valentin,  say  you  ?  Eaphael  de  Valentin,  if  you  please.  We 
bear  an  eagle  or,  on  a  field  sable,  with  a  silver  crown,  beak,  and 
claws  gules,  and  a  fine  motto:  Non  cecidit  animus.  We 
are  no  foundling  child,  but  a  descendant  of  the  Emperor 
Valens,  of  the  stock  of  the  Valentinois,  founders  of  the  cities 
of  Valence  in  France,  and  Valencia  in  Spain,  rightful  heirs 
to  the  Empire  of  the  East.  If  we  suffer  Mahmoud  on  the 
throne  of  Byzantium,  it  is  out  of  pure  condescension,  and  for 
lack  of  funds  and  soldiers.'* 

With  a  fork  flourished  above  Eaphael's  head,  £mile  out- 
lined a  crown  upon  it.  The  notary  bethought  himself  a 
moment,  but  soon  fell  to  drinlcing  again,  with  a  gesture 
peculiar  to  himself ;  it  was  quite  impossible,  it  seemed  to  say, 
to  secure  in  his  clientele  the  cities  of  Valence  and  Byzantium, 
the  Emperor  Valens,  Mahmoud,  and  the  house  of  Valentinois. 

"Should  not  the  destruction  of  those  ant-hills,  Babylon, 
Tyre,  Carthage,  and  Venice,  each  crushed  beneath  the  foot  of 
apassing  giant,  serve  as  a  warning  to  man,  vouchsafed  by  some 
mocking  power?"  said  Claude  Vignon,  who  must  play  the 
Bossuet,  as  a  sort  of  purchased  slave,  at  the  rate  of  fivepence 
a  line. 

"Perhaps  Moses,  Sylla,  Louis  XL,  Eichelieu,  Eobespierre, 
and  Napoleon  were  but  the  same  man  who  crosses  our  civiliza- 
tions now  and  again,  like  a  comet  across  the  sky,"  said  a  dis- 
ciple of  Ballanche. 

"Why  try  to  fathom  the  designs  of  Providence?"  said 
Canalis,  maker  of  ballads. 


THE  TALISMAN  47 

"Come,  now,"  said  the  man  who  set  up  for  a  critic,  "there 
is  nothing  more  elastic  in  the  world  than  your  Provi- 
dence." 

"Well,  sir,  Louis  XIV.  sacrificed  more  lives  over  digging 
the  foundations  of  the  Maintenon's  aqueducts,  than  the  Con- 
vention expended  in  order  to  assess  the  taxes  justly,  to  make 
one  law  for  everybody,  and  one  nation  of  France,  and  to 
establish  the  rule  of  equal  inheritance,"  said  Massol,  whom 
the  lack  of  a  syllable  before  his  name  had  made  a  Eepubli- 
can. 

"Are  you  going  to  leave  our  heads  on  our  shoulders  ?"  asked 
Moreau  (of  the  Oise),  a  substantial  farmer.  "You,  sir,  who 
took  blood  for  wine  just  now  ?" 

"Where  is  the  use?  Aren't  the  principles  of  social  order 
worth  some  sacrifices,  sir?" 

"Hi !  Bixiou !  What's-his-name,  the  Republican,  con- 
siders a  landowner's  head  a  sacrifice !"  said  a  young  man  to 
his  neighbor. 

"Men  and  events  count  for  nothing,"  said  the  Eepublican, 
following  out  his  theory  in  spite  of  hiccoughs ;  "in  politics,  as 
in  philosophy,  there  are  only  principles  and  ideas." 

"What  an  abomination!  Then  you  would  ruthlessly  put 
your  friends  to  death  for  a  shibboleth  ?" 

"Eh,  sir !  the  man  who  feels  compunction  is  your  thorough 
scoundrel,  for  he  has  some  notion  of  virtue ;  while  Peter  the 
Great  and  the  Duke  of  Alva  were  embodied  systems,  and  the 
pirate  Monbaxd  an  organization." 

"But  can't  society  rid  itself  of  your  systems  and  organiza- 
tions ?"  said  Canalis. 

"Oh,  granted !"  cried  the  Eepublican. 

"That  stupid  Eepublic  of  yours  makes  me  feel  queasy.  We 
sha'n't  be  able  to  carve  a  capon  in  peace,  because  we  shall  find 
the  agrarian  law  inside  it." 

"Ah,  my  little  Brutus,  stuffed  with  truffles,  your  principles 
are  all  right  enough.  But  you  are  like  my  valet,  the  rogue  is 
GO  frightfully  possessed  with  a  mania  for  property  that  if  I 


48  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

left  him  to  clean  my  clothes  after  his  fashion,  he  would  soon 
clean  me  out." 

"Crass  idiots  \"  replied  the  Republican,  "you  are  for  setting 
a  nation  straight  with  toothpicks.  To  your  way  of  thinking, 
justice  is  more  dangerous  than  thieves.'' 

"Oh,  dear !"  cried  the  attorney  Desroches. 

"Aren't  they  a  bore  with  their  politics !"  said  the  notary 
Cardot.  "Shut  up.  That's  enough  of  it.  There  is  no 
knowledge  nor  virtue  worth  shedding  a  drop  of  blood  for.  If 
•Truth  were  brought  into  liquidation,  we  might  find  her  in- 
solvent." 

"It  would  be  much  less  trouble,  no  doubt,  to  amuse  our- 
eelves  with  evil,  rather  than  dispute  about  good.  Moreover, 
I  would  give  all  the  speeches  made  for  forty  years  past  at  the 
Tribune  for  a  trout,  for  one  of  Perrault's  tales  or  Charlet's 
sketches." 

"Quite  right !  .  .  .  Hand  me  the  asparagus.  Because, 
after  all,  liberty  begets  anarchy,  anarchy  leads  to  despotism, 
and  despotism  back  again  to  liberty.  Millions  have  died  with- 
out securing  a  triumph  for  any  one  system.  Is  not  that  the 
vicious  circle  in  which  the  whole  moral  world  revolves  ?  Man 
believes  that  he  has  reached  perfection,  when  in  fact  he  has  but 
rearranged  matters." 

"Oh !  oh  !"  cried  Cursy,  the  vaudevilliste;  "in  that  case,  gen- 
tlemen, here's  to  Charles  X.,  the  father  of  liberty." 

"Why  not?"  asked  fimile.  "When  law  becomes  despotic, 
morals  are  relaxed,  and  vice  versa." 

"Let  us  drink  to  the  imbecility  of  authority,  which  gives 
us  such  an  authority  over  imbeciles !"  said  the  banker. 

"Napoleon  left  us  glor)^,  at  any  rate,  my  good  friend !"  ex- 
claimed a  naval  officer  who  had  never  left  Brest. 

"Glory  is  a  poor  bargain;  you  buy  it  dear,  and  it  will  not 
keep.  Does  not  the  egotism  of  the  great  take  the  form  of 
glory,  just  as  for  nobodies  ij.  is  their  own  well-being  ?" 

**You  are  very  fortunate,  sir " 

"The  first  inventor  of  ditches  must  have  been  a  weakling, 
for  society  is  only  useful  to  the  puny.     The  savage  and  the 


THE  TALISMAN  4» 

pliilosopher,  at  either  extreme  of  the  moral  scale,  hold  prop- 
erty in  equal  horror." 

"All  very  fine !"  said  Cardot ;  "but  if  there  were  no  property, 
there  would  be  no  documents  to  draw  up." 

"These  green  peas  are  excessively  delicious !" 

"And  the  cure  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  in  the  morn- 
ing.    .     .     /' 

"Who  is  talking  about  death?  Pray  don't  trifle,  I  have 
an  uncle." 

"Could  you  bear  his  loss  with  resignation?" 

"No  question." 

"Gentlemen,  listen  to  me!  How  to  kill  an  uncle. 
Silence!  (Cries  of  "Hush!  hush!")  In  the  first  place,  take 
an  uncle,  large  and  stout,  seventy  years  old  at  least,  they  are 
the  best  uncles.  (Sensation.)  Get  him  to  eat  a,  pate  de  foie 
gras,  any  pretext  will  do." 

"Ah,  but  my  uncle  is  a  thin,  tall  man,  and  very  niggardly 
and  abstemious." 

"That  sort  of  uncle  is  a  monster;  he  misappropriates 
existence." 

"Then,"  the  speaker  on  uncles  M-ent  on,  "tell  him,  while 
he  is  digesting  it,  that  his  banker  has  failed." 

"How  if  he  bears  up  ?" 

"Let  loose  a  pretty  girl  on  him." 

"And  if ?"  asked  the  other,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"Then  he  wouldn't  be  an  uncle — an  uncle  is  a  gay  dog  by 
nature." 

"Malibran  has  lost  two  notes  in  her  voice." 

"No,  sir,  she  has  not." 

"Yes,  sir,  she  has." 

"Oh,  ho!  No  and  yes,  is  not  that  the  sum-up  of  all 
religious,  political,  or  literary  dissertations  ?  Man  is  a  clown 
dancing  on  the  edge  of  an  abyss." 

"You  would  make  out  that  I  am  a  fool." 

"On  the  contrary,  you  cannot  make  me  out." 

"Education,  there's  a  pretty  piece  of  tomfoolery.  M. 
Heineffettermach  estimates  the  number  of  printed  volumes 


80  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

at  more  than  a  thousand  millions;  and  a  man  cannot  read 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  in  his  lifetime.  fcTo, 
just  tell  me  what  that  word  education  means.  For  some  it 
consists  in  knowing  the  names  of  Alexander's  horse,  of  the 
dog  Berecillo,  of  the  Seigneur  d' Accords,  and  in  ignorance  of 
the  man  to  whom  we  owe  the  discovery  of  rafting  and  the 
manufacture  of  porcelain.  For  others  it  is  the  knowledge 
how  to  burn  a  will  and  live  respected,  be  looked  up  to  and 
popular,  instead  of  stealing  a  watch  with  half-a-dozen  aggra- 
vating circumstances,  after  a  previous  conviction,  and  so 
perishing,  hated  and  dishonored,  in  the  Place  de  Greve/' 

"Will  Nathan's  work  live?'' 

'^He  has  very  clever  collaborators,  sir.'* 

"OrCanalis?" 

*'He  is  a  great  man ;  let  us  say  no  more  about  him." 

*'You  are  all  drunk !" 

"The  consequence  of  a  Constitution  is  the  immediate 
stultification  of  intellects.  Art,  science,  public  works,  every- 
thing, is  consumed  by  a  horribly  egoistic  feeling,  the  leprosy 
of  the  time.  Three  hundred  of  your  bourgeoisie,  set  down 
on  benches,  will  only  think  of  planting  poplars.  Tyranny 
does  great  things  lawlessly,  while  Liberty  will  scarcely  trouble 
herself  to  do  petty  ones  lawfully." 

"Your  reciprocal  instruction  will  turn  out  counters  in 
human  flesh,"  broke  in  an  Absolutist.  "All  individuality  will 
disappear  in  a  people  brought  to  a  dead  level  by  education." 

"For  all  that,  is  not  the  aim  of  society  to  secure  happiness 
to  each  member  of  it  ?*  asked  the  Saint-Simonian. 

"If  you  had  an  income  of  fifty  thousand  livres,  you  would 
not  think  much  about  the  people.  If  you  are  smitten  with 
a  tender  passion  for  the  race,  go  to  Madagascar;  there  you 
will  find  a  nice  little  nation  all  ready  to  Saint-Simonize, 
classify,  and  cork  up  in  your  phials,  but  here  every  one  fits 
into  his  niche  like  a  peg  in  a  hole.  A  porter  is  a  porter,  and 
a  blockhead  is  a  fool,  without  a  college  of  fathers  to  promote 
them  to  those  positions." 

"You  are  a  Carlist." 


THE  TALISMAN  51 

*'And  why  not  ?  Despotism  pleases  me ;  it  implies  a  certain 
contempt  for  the  human  race.  I  have  no  animosity  against 
kings,  they  are  so  amusing.  Is  it  nothing  to  sit  enthroned 
in  a  room,  at  a  distance  of  thirty  million  leagues  from  the 
sun?" 

"Let  us  once  more  take  a  broad  view  of  civilization,"  said 
the  man  of  learning  who,  for  the  benefit  of  the  inattentive 
sculptor,  had  opened  a  discussion  on  primitive  society  and 
autochthonous  races.  "The  vigor  of  a  nation  in  its  origin 
was  in  a  way  physical,  unitary,  and  crude;  then  as  aggrega- 
tions increased,  government  advanced  by  a  decomposition  of 
the  primitive  rule,  more  or  less  skilfully  managed.  For  ex- 
ample, in  remote  ages  national  strength  lay  in  theocracy,  the 
priest  held  both  sword  and  censer ;  a  little  later  there  were  two 
priests,  the  pontiff  and  the  king.  To-day  our  society,  the 
latest  word  of  civilization,  has  distributed  power  according  to 
the  number  of  combinations,  and  we  come  to  the  forces  called 
business,  thought,  money,  and  eloquence.  Authority  thus 
divided  is  steadily  approaching  a  social  dissolution,  with  inter- 
est as  its  one  opposing  barrier.  "We  depend  no  longer  on  either 
religion  or  physical  force,  but  upon  intellect.  Can  a  book 
replace  the  sword  ?  Can  discussion  be  a  substitute  for  action  ? 
That  is  the  question." 

"Intellect  has  made  an  end  of  everything,"  cried  the 
Carlist.  "Come,  now !  Absolute  freedom  has  brought  about 
national  suicides;  their  triumph  left  them  as  listless  as  an 
English  millionaire." 

"Won't  you  tell  us  something  new?  You  have  made  fun 
of  authority  of  all  sorts  to-day,  which  is  every  bit  as  vulgar 
as  denying  the  existence  of  God.  So  you  have  no  belief  left, 
and  the  century  is  like  an  old  Sultan  worn  out  by  debauchery ! 
Your  Byron,  in  short,  sings  of  crime  and  its  emotions  in  a 
final  despair  of  poetry." 

"Don't  you  know,"  replied  Bianchon,  quite  drunk  by  this 
time,  "that  a  dose  of  phosphorus  more  or  less  makes  the  man 
of  genius  or  the  scoundrel,  a  clever  man  or  an  idiot,  a  virtuous 
person  or  a  criminal?" 


52  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"Can  any  one  treat  of  virtue  thus  ?"  cried  Cursy.  "Virtue, 
the  subject  of  every  drama  at  the  theatre,  the  denou- 
ment  of  every  play,  the  foundation  of  every  court  of 
law."     ... 

"Be  quiet,  you  ass.  You  are  an  Acliilles  for  virtue,  without 
his  heel,"  said  Bixiou. 

"Some  drink !" 

"What  will  you  bet  that  I  will  drink  a  bottle  of  champagne 
like  a  flash,  at  one  pull?" 

"What  a  flash  of  wit !" 

"Drunk  as  lords,"  muttered  a  young  man  gravely,  trying  to 
give  some  wine  to  his  waistcoat. 

"Yes,  sir;  real  government  is  the  art  of  ruling  by  public 
opinion." 

"Opinion?  That  is  the  most  vicious  jade  of  all.  Accord- 
ing to  you  moralists  and  politicians,  the  laws  you  set  up  are 
always  to  go  before  those  of  nature,  and  opinion  before  con- 
science. You  are  right  and  wrong  both.  Suppose  society 
bestows  down  pillows  on  us,  that  benefit  is  made  up  for  by 
the  gout;  and  justice  is  likewise  tempered  by  red-tape,  and 
colds  accompany  cashmere  shawls." 

"Wretch  !"  Emile  broke  in  upon  the  misanthrope,  'how  can 
you  slander  civilization  here  at  table,  up  to  the  eyes*  in  wines 
and  exquisite  dishes?  Eat  away  at  that  roebuck  with  the 
gilded  horns  and  feet,  and  do  not  carp  at  your  mother.     .     ." 

"Is  it  any  fault  of  mine  if  Catholicism  puts  a  million  deities 
in  a  sack  of  flour,  that  Eepublics  will  end  in  a  Napoleon,  that( 
monarchy  dwells  between  the  assassination  of  Henry  IV.  and 
the  trial  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  Liberalism  produces  La- 
f  ayettes  ?" 

"Didn't  you  embrace  him  in  July  ?" 

"No." 

■^'Then  hold  your  tongue,  you  sceptic." 

"Sceptics  are  the  most  conscientious  of  men.*' 

"They  have  no  conscience." 

*^hat  are  you  saying  ?     They  have  two  apiece  at  least !" 

"So  you  want  to  discount  heaven,  a  thoroughly  commercial 


THE  TALISMAN  63 

notion.  Ancient  religions  were  but  the  unchecked  develop- 
ment of  physical  pleasure,  but  we  have  developed  a  soul  and 
expectations ;  some  advance  has  been  made." 

"What  can  you  expect,  my  friends,  of  a  century  filled  with 
politics  to  repletion  ?"  asked  Nathan.  "What  befell  The  His- 
tory of  the  King  of  Bohemia  and  his  Seven  Castles,  a  most  en- 
trancing conception?     .     .     J' 

"I  say,"  the  would-be  critic  cried  down  the  whole  length 
of  the  table.  "The  phrases  might  have  been  drawn  at  hap- 
hazard from  'a  hat,  'twas  a  work  written  'down  to  Charen- 
ton.' " 

"You  are  a  fool  I" 

*'And  you  are  a  rogue  V* 

"Oh !  oh !" 

"Ah !  ah !" 

"They  are  going  to  fight." 

"No,  they  aren't." 

**You  will  find  me  to-morrow,  sir." 

"This  very  moment,"  Nathan  answered. 

"Come,  come,  you  pair  of  fire-eaters !" 

"You  are  another !"  said  the  prime  mover  in  the  quarrel. 

"They  can  hardly  stand  on  their  legs." 

*'Ah,  I  can't  stand  upright,  perhaps  ?"  asked  the  pugnacious 
Nathan,  straightening  himself  up  like  a  stag-beetle  about  to 

fly- 

He  stared  stupidly  round  the  table,  then,  completely  ex- 
hausted by  the  effort,  sank  back  into  his  chair,  and  mutely 
hung  his  head. 

"Would  it  not  have  been  nice,"  the  critic  said  to  his  neigh- 
bor, "to  fight  about  a  book  I  have  neither  read  nor  seen  ?" 

"ifimile,  look  out  for  your  coat ;  your  neighbor  is  growing 
pale,"  said  Bixiou. 

"Kant  ?  Yet  another  ball  flung  out  for  fools  to  sport  with, 
sir!  Materialism  and  spiritualism  are  a  fine  pair  of  battle- 
dores with  which  charlatans  in  long  gowns  keep  a  shuttlecock 
a-going.  Suppose  that  God  is  everywhere,  as  Spinoza  says, 
or  that  all  things  proceed  from  God.  as  says  St..  Paul     .     .     . 


54  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

the  nincompoops,  the  door  shuts  or  opens,  hut  isn't  the  move- 
ment the  same?  Does  the  fowl  come  from  the  egg,  or  the 
egg  from  the  fowl  ?  .  .  .  Just  hand  me  some  duck  .  .  . 
and  there,  you  have  all  science." 

^'Simpleton !"  cried  the  man  of  science,  "your  problem  is 
settled  by  fact !" 

"What  fact?" 

"Professors'  chairs  were  not  made  for  philosophy,  but 
philosophy  for  the  professors'  chairs.  Put  on  a  pair  of 
spectacles  and  read  the  budget." 

''Thieves !" 

"Nincompoops !" 

"Knaves !" 

"Gulls !" 

*^here  but  in  Paris  will  you  find  such  a  ready  and  rapid 
exchange  of  thought  ?"  cried  Bixiou  in  a  deep,  bass  voice. 

"Bixiou  !     Act  a  classical  farce  for  us !     Come,  now." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  depict  the  nineteenth  century  ?" 

"Silence." 

*Tay  attention." 

"Clap  a  muffle  on  your  trumpets." 

"Shut  up,  you  Turk !" 

"Give  him  some  wine,  and  let  that  fellow  keep  quiet.'* 

"Now,  then,  Bixiou !" 

The  artist  buttoned  his  black  coat  to  the  collar,  put  on 
yellow  gloves,  and  began  to  burlesque  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  by  acting  a  squinting  old  lady;  but  the  uproar 
drowned  his  voice,  and  no  one  heard  a  word  of  the  satire. 
Still,  if  he  did  not  catch  the  spirit  of  the  century,  he  repre- 
sented the  Revue  at  any  rate,  for  his  own  intentions  were  not 
very  clear  to  him. 

Dessert  was  served  as  if  by  magic.  A  huge  epergne  of 
gilded  bronze  from  Thomire's  studio  overshadowed  the  table. 
Tall  statuettes,  which  a  celebrated  artist  had  endued  with 
ideal  beauty  according  to  conventional  European  notions,  sus- 
tained and  carried  pyramids  of  strawberries,  pines,  fresh 
dates,  golden  grapes,  clear-skinned  peaches,  oranges  brought 


THE  TALISMAN  65 

from  Setnbal  by  steamer,  pomegranates,  Chinese  fruit;  in 
short,  all  the  surprises  of  luxury,  miracles  of  confectionery, 
the  most  tempting  dainties,  and  choicest  delicacies.  The 
coloring  of  this  epicurean  work  of  art  was  enhanced  by  the 
splendors  of  porcelain,  by  sparkling  outlines  of  gold,  by  the 
chasing  of  the  vases.  Poussin's  landscapes,  copied  on  Sevres 
ware,  were  crowned  with  graceful  fringes  of  moss,  green, 
translucent,  and  fragile  as  ocean  weeds. 

The  revenue  of  a  German  prince  would  not  have  defrayed 
the  cost  of  this  arrogant  display.  Silver  and  mother-of-pearl, 
gold  and  crystal,  were  lavished  afresh  in  new  forms;  but 
scarcely  a  vague  idea  of  this  almost  Oriental  fairyland  pene- 
trated eyes  now  heavy  with  wine,  or  crossed  the  delirium  of 
intoxication.  The  fire  and  fragrance  of  the  wines  acted  like 
potent  philters  and  magical  fumes,  producing  a  kind  of  mirage 
in  the  brain,  binding  feet,  and  weighing  down  hands.  The 
pyramids  of  fruit  were  ransacked,  voices  grew  thicker,  the 
clamor  increased.  Words  were  no  longer  distinct,  glasses 
flew  in  pieces,  senseless  peals  of  laughter  broke  out.  Cursy 
snatched  up  a  horn  and  struck  up  a  flourish  on  it.  It  acted 
like  a  signal  given  by  the  devil.  Yells,  hisses,  songs,  cries, 
and  groans  went  up  from  the  maddened  crew.  You  might 
have  smiled  to  see  men,  light-hearted  by  nature,  grow  tragical 
as  Crebillon's  dramas,  and  pensive  as  a  sailor  in  a  coach. 
Hard-headed  men  blabbed  secrets  to  the  inquisitive,  who  were 
long  past  heeding  them.  Saturnine  faces  were  wreathed  in 
smiles  worthy  of  a  pirouetting  dancer.  Claude  Vignon  shuf- 
fled about  like  a  bear  in  a  cage.  Intimate  friends  began  to 
fight. 

Animal  likenesses,  so  curiously  traced  by  physiologists  in 
human  faces,  came  out  in  gestures  and  behavior.  A  book 
lay  open  for  a  Bichat  if  he  had  repaired  thither  fasting  and 
collected.  The  master  of  the  house,  knowing  his  conditiop 
did  not  dare  to  stir,  but  encouraged  his  guests'  extravagances 
with  a  fixed  grimacing  smile,  meant  to  be  hospitable  and  ap- 
propriate.    His  large  face,  turning  from  blue  and  red  to  a 


66  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

purple  shade  terrible  to  see,  partook  of  the  general  commotion 
by  movements  like  the  heaving  and  pitching  of  a  brig. 

"Fow,  did  you  murder  them  ?"  Emile  asked  him. 

"Capital  punishment  is  going  to  be  abolished,  they  say,  in 
favor  of  the  Eevolution  of  July,"  answered  Taillefer,  raising 
his  eyel/fows  •with  drunls;en  sagacity. 

"Don't  they  rise  up  before  you  in  dreams  at  times?" 
Eaphael  persisted. 

"There's  a  statute  of  limitations,"  said  the  murderer- 
Croesus. 

"And  on  his  tombstone,"  Emile  began,  with  a  sardonic 
laugh,  "the  stonemason  will  carve  Tasser-by,  accord  a  tear, 
in  memory  of  one  that's  here !'  Oh,"  he  continued,  "I  would 
cheerfully  pay  a  hundred  sous  to  any  mathematician  who 
would  prove  the  existence  of  hell  to  me  by  an  algebraical 
equation." 

He  flung  up  a  coin  and  cried : 

"Heads  for  the  existence  of  God !" 

"Don't  look!"  Eaphael  cried,  pouncing  upon  it.  "Who 
knows  ?     Suspense  is  so  pleasant." 

"Unluckily,"  fimile  said,  with  burlesque  melancholy,  "I  can 
see  no  halting-place  between  the  unbeliever's  arithmetic  and 
the  papal  Pater  noster.  Pshaw!  let  us  drink.  Trinq  was, 
I  believe,  the  oracular  answer  of  the  dive  bouteille  and  the 
final  conclusion  of  Pantagruel." 

"We  owe  our  arts  and  monuments  to  the  Pater  noster,  and 
our  knowledge,  too,  perhaps;  and  a  still  greater  benefit — 
modern  government — whereby  a  vast  and  teeming  society  is 
wondrously  represented  by  some  five  hundred  intellects.  It 
neutralizes  opposing  forces  and  gives  free  play  to  civiliza- 
tion, that  Titan  queen  who  has  succeeded  the  ancient  terrible 
figure  of  the  king,  that  sham  Providence,  reared  by  man  be- 
tween himself  and  heaven.  In  the  face  of  such  achievements, 
atheism  seems  like  a  barren  skeleton.     What  do  you  say  ?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  the  seas  of  blood  shed  by  Catholicism," 
Emile  replied,  quiie  unimpressed.    "It  has  drained  our  hearts/ 
and  veins  dry  to  make  a  mimic  deluge.     No  matter !     Every 


THE  TALISMAN  67 

man  who  thinks  mnst  range  himself  beneath  the  banner  of 
Christ,  for  He  alone  has  consummated  the  triumph  of  spirit 
over  matter ;  He  alone  has  revealed  to  us,  like  a  poet,  an  in- 
termediate world  that  separates  us  from  the  Deity." 

"Believest  thou?"  asked  Eaphael  with  an  unaccountable 
drunken  smile.  "Very  good ;  we  must  not  commit  ourselves ; 
BO  we  will  drink  the  celebrated  toast,  Diis  ignotis!" 

And  they  drained  the  chalice  filled  up  with  science, 
carbonic  acid  gas,  perfumes,  poetry,  and  incredulity. 

"If  the  gentlemen  will  go  to  the  drawing-room,  coffee  is 
ready  for  them,"  said  the  major-domo. 

There  was  scarcely  one  of  those  present  whose  mind  was 
not  floundering  by  this  time  in  the  delights  of  chaos,  where 
every  spark  of  intelligence  is  quenched,  and  the  body,  set  free 
from  its  tyranny,  gives  itself  up  to  the  frenetic  joys  of  liberty. 
Some  who  had  arrived  at  the  apogee  of  intoxication  were 
dejected,  as  they  painfully  tried  to  arrest  a  single  thought 
which  might  assure  them  of  their  own  existence ;  others,  deep 
in  the  heavy  morasses  of  indigestion,  denied  the  possibility  of 
movement.  The  noisy  and  the  silent  were  oddly  as- 
sorted. 

For  all  that,  when  new  joys  were  announced  to  them  by 
the  stentorian  tones  of  the  servant,  who  spoke  on  his  master's 
behalf,  they  all  rose,  leaning  upon,  dragging  or  carrying  one 
another.  But  on  the  threshold  of  the  room  the  entire  crew 
paused  for  a  moment,  motionless,  as  if  fascinated.  The  in- 
temperate pleasures  of  the  banquet  seemed  to  fade  away  at 
this  titillating  spectacle,  prepared  by  their  amphitryon  to  ap- 
peal to  the  most  sensual  of  their  instincts. 

Beneath  the  shining  wax-lights  in  a  golden  chandelier, 
round  about  a  table  inlaid  with  gilded  metal,  a  group  of  wo- 
men, whose  eyes  shone  like  diamonds,  suddenly  met  the 
stupefied  stare  of  the  revelers.  Their  toilettes  were  splendid, 
but  less  magnificent  than  their  beauty,  which  eclipsed  the 
other  marvels  of  this  palace.  A  light  shone  from  their  eyes, 
bewitching  as  those  of  sirens,  more  brilliant  and  ardent  than 
the  blaze  that  streamed  do^vn  upon  the  snowy  marble,  the 


S8  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

delicately  carved  surfaces  of  bronze,  and  lit  up  the  satin  sheen 
of  the  tapestry.  The  contrasts  of  their  attitudes  and  the 
slight  movements  of  their  heads,  each  differing  in  character 
and  nature  of  attraction,  set  the  heart  afire.  It  was  like  a 
thicket,  where  blossoms  mingled  with  rubies,  sapphires,  and 
coral;  a  combination  of  gossamer  scarves  that  flickered  like 
beacon-lights;  of  black  ribbons  about  snowy  throats;  of 
gorgeous  turbans  and  demurely  enticing  apparel.  It  was  a 
seraglio  that  appealed  to  every  eye,  and  fulfilled  every  fancy.. 
Each  form  posed  to  admiration  was  scarcely  concealed  by  the 
folds  of  cashmere,  and  half  hidden,  half  revealed  by  trans- 
parent gauze  and  diaphanous  silk.  The  little  slender  feet 
were  eloquent,  though  the  fresh  red  lips  uttered  no  sound. 

Demure  and  fragile-looking  girls,  pictures  of  maidenly  in- 
nocence, with  a  semblance  of  conventional  unction  about  their 
heads,  were  there  like  apparitions  that  a  breath  might  dissi- 
pate. Aristocratic  beauties  with  haughty  glances;  languid, 
flexible,  slender,  and  complaisant,  bent  their  heads  as  though 
there  were  royal  protectors  still  in  the  market.  An  English- 
woman seemed  like  a  spirit  of  melancholy — some  coy,  pale, 
shadowy  form  among  Ossian's  mists,  or  a  type  of  remorse 
flying  from  crime.  The  Parisienne  was  not  wanting  in  all 
her  beauty  that  consists  in  an  indescribable  charm;  armed 
with  her  irresistible  weakness,  vain  of  her  costume  and  her 
wit,  pliant  and  hard,  a  heartless,  passionless  siren  that  yet 
can  create  factitious  treasures  of  passion  and  counterfeit  emo- 
tion. 

Italians  shone  in  the  throng,  serene  and  self-possessed  in 
their  bliss ;  handsome  Normans,  with  splendid  figures ;  women 
of  the  south,  with  black  hair  and  well-shaped  eyes.  Lebel 
might  have  summoned  together  all  the  fair  women  of  Ver- 
sailles, who  since  morning  had  perfected  all  their  wiles,  and 
now  came  like  a  troupe  of  Oriental  women,  bidden  by  the 
slave  merchant  to  be  ready  to  set  out  at  dawn.  They  stood 
disconcerted  and  confused  about  the  table,  huddled  together 
in  a  murmuring  group  like  bees  in  a  hive.  The  combination 
of  timid  embarrassment  with  coquettishness  and  a  sort  of 


THE  TALISMAN  59 

expostulation  was  the  result  either  of  calculated  effect  or  a 
spontaneous  modesty.  Perhaps  a  sentiment  of  which  women 
are  never  utterly  divested  prescribed  to  them  the  cloak  of 
modesty  to  heighten  and  enhance  the  charms  of  wantonness. 
So  the  venerable  Taillefer's  designs  seemed  on  the  point  of 
collapse,  for  these  unbridled  natures  were  subdued  from  the 
very  first  by  the  majesty  with  which  woman  is  invested. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  admiration,  which  vibrated  like  a  soft 
musical  note.  Wine  had  not  taken  love  for  traveling  com* 
panion;  instead  of  a  violent  tumult  of  passions,  the  guests 
thus  taken  by  surprise,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  gave  them- 
selves up  to  luxurious  raptures  of  delight. 

Artists  obeyed  the  voice  of  poetry  which  constrains  them, 
and  studied  with  pleasure  the  different  delicate  tints  of  these 
chosen  examples  of  beauty.  Sobered  by  a  thought  perhaps 
due  to  some  emanation  from  a  bubble  of  carbonic  acid  in  the 
champagne,  a  philosopher  shuddered  at  the  misfortunes  which 
had  brought  these  women,  once  perhaps  worthy  of  the  truest 
devotion,  to  this.  Each  one  doubtless  could  have  unfolded  a 
cruel  tragedy.  Infernal  tortures  followed  in  the  train  of 
most  of  them,  and  they  drew  after  them  faithless  men,  broken 
vows,  and  pleasures  atoned  for  in  wretchedness.  Polite  ad- 
vances were  made  by  the  guests,  and  conversations  began,  as 
varied  in  character  as  the  speakers.  They  broke  up  into 
groups.  It  might  have  been  a  fashionable  drawing-room 
where  ladies  and  young  girls  offer  after  dinner  the  assist- 
ance that  coffee,  liqueurs,  and  sugar  afford  to  diners  who  are 
struggling  in  the  toils  of  a  perverse  digestion.  But  in  a  little 
while  laughter  broke  out,  the  murmur  grew,  and  voices  were 
raised.  The  saturnalia,  subdued  for  a  moment,  threatened  at 
times  to  renew  itself.  The  alternations  of  sound  and  silence 
bore  a  distant  resemblance  to  a  symphony  of  Beethoven's. 

The  two  friends,  seated  on  a  silken  divan,  were  first  ap- 
proached by  a  tall,  well-proportioned  girl  of  stately  bearing; 
her  features  were  irregular,  but  her  face  was  striking  and 
vehement  in  expression,  and  impressed  the  mind  by  the  vigor 
of  its  contrasts.    Her  dark  hair  fell  in  luxuriant  curls,  with 


eo  THE  Magic  skin 

which  some  hand  seemed  to  have  played  havoc  already,  for 
the  locks  fell  lightly  over  the  splendid  shoulders  that  thus 
attracted  attention.  The  long  brown  curls  half  hid  her 
queenly  throat,  though  where  the  light  fell  upon  it,  the  deli- 
cacy of  its  fine  outlines  was  revealed.  Her  warm  and  vivid 
coloring  was  set  off  by  the  dead  white  of  her  complexion. 
Bold  and  ardent  glances  came  from  under  the  long  eyelashes ; 
the  damp,  red,  half-open  lips  challenged  a  kiss.  Her  frame 
was  strong  but  compliant;  with  a  bust  and  arms  strongly 
developed,  as  in  figures  drawn  by  the  Caracei,  she  yet  seemed 
active  and  elastic,  with  a  panther's  strength  and  suppleness, 
and  in  the  same  way  the  energetic  grace  of  her  figure  sug- 
gested fierce  pleasures. 

But  though  she  might  romp  perhaps  and  laugh,  there  was 
something  terrible  in  her  eyes  and  her  smile.  Like  a 
pythoness  possessed  by  the  demon,  she  inspired  awe  rather 
than  pleasure.  All  changes,  one  after  another,  flashed  like 
lightning  over  every  mobile  feature  of  her  face.  She  might 
captivate  a  jaded  fancy,  but  a  young  man  would  have  feared 
her.  She  was  like  some  colossal  statue  fallen  from  the  height 
of  a  Greek  temple,  so  grand  when  seen  afar,  too  roughly  hewn 
to  be  seen  anear.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  her  terrible  beauty 
could  have  stimulated  exhaustion;  her  voice  might  charm 
the  deaf;  her  glances  might  put  life  into  the  bones  of  the 
dead;  and  therefore  fimile  was  vaguely  reminded  of  one  of 
Shakespeare's  tragedies — a  wonderful  maze,  in  which  joy 
groans,  and  there  is  something  wild  even  about  love,' and  the 
magic  of  forgiveness  and  the  warmth  of  happiness  succeed  to 
cruel  storms  of  rage.  She  was  a  siren  that  can  both  kiss  and 
devour ;  laugh  like  a  devil,  or  weep  as  angels  can.  She  could 
concentrate  in  one  instant  all  a  woman's  powers  of  attraction 
in  a  single  effort  (the  sighs  of  melancholy  and  the  charms  of 
maiden's  shyness  alone  excepted),  then  in  a  moment  rise  in 
fury  like  a  nation  in  revolt,  and  tear  herself,  her  passion,  and 
her  lover,  in  pieces. 

Dressed  in  red  velvet,  she  trampled  under  her  reckless  feet 
the  stray  flowers  fallen  from  other  heads,  and  held  out  a 


THE  TALISMAN  61 

salver  to  the  two  friends,  with  careless  hands.  The  white 
arms  stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  velvet.  Proud  of 
her  beauty;  proud  (who  knows?)  of  her  corruption,  she 
stood  like  a  queen  of  pleasure,  like  an  incarnation  of  enjoy- 
ment ;  the  enjoyment  that  comes  of  squandering  the  accumu- 
lations of  three  generations ;  that  scoffs  at  its  progenitors,  and 
makes  merry  over  a  corpse ;  that  will  dissolve  pearls  and  wreck 
thrones,  turn  old  men  into  boys,  and  make  young  men  prema- 
turely old;  enjoyment  only  possible  to  giants  weary  of  their 
power,  tormented  by  reflection,  or  for  whom  strife  has  be- 
come a  plaything. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  Eaphael. 

"Aquilina." 

"Out  of  Venice  Preserved!"  exclaimed  ifimile. 

'TTes,"  she  answered.  "Just  as  a  pope  takes  a  new  name 
when  he  is  exalted  above  all  other  men,  I,  too,  took  another 
name  when  I  raised  myself  above  women's  level." 

"Then  have  you,  like  your  patron  saint,  a  terrible  and  noble 
lover,  a  conspirator,  who  would  die  for  you?"  cried  £mile 
eagerly — this  gleam  of  poetry  had  aroused  his  interest. 

"Once  I  had,"  she  answered.  "But  I  had  a  rival  too  in 
La  Guillotine.  I  have  worn  something  red  about  me  ever 
since,  lest  any  happiness  should  carry  me  away." 

"Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  get  her  on  to  the  story  of  those 
four  lads  of  La  Eochelle,  she  will  never  get  to  the  end  of  it. 
That's  enough,  Aquilina.  As  if  every  woman  could  not  be- 
wail some  lover  or  other,  though  not  every  one  has  the  luck 
to  lose  him  on  the  scaffold,  as  you  have  done.  I  would  a  great 
deal  sooner  see  a  lover  of  mine  in  a  trench  at  the  back  of 
Clamart  than  in  a  rival's  arms." 

All  this  in  the  gentlest  and  most  melodious  accents,  and 
pronounced  by  the  prettiest,  gentlest,  and  most  innocent-look- 
ing little  person  that  a  fairy  wand  ever  drew  from  an  en- 
chanted eggshell.  She  had  come  up  noiselessly,  and  they  be- 
came aware  of  a  slender,  dainty  figure,  charmingly  timid  blue 
eyes,  and  white  transparent  brows.  No  ingenue  among  the 
naiads,  a  truant  from  her  river  spring,  could  have  been 


(J2  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

shyer,  whiter,  more  ingenuous  than  this  3^oung  girl,  seem- 
ingly about  sixteen  years  old,  ignorant  of  evil  and  of  the 
storms  of  life,  and  fresh  from  some  church  in  which  she  must 
have  prayed  the  angels  to  call  her  to  heaven  before  the  time. 
Only  in  Paris  are  such  natures  as  this  to  be  found,  concealing 
depths  of  depravity  behind  a  fair  mask,  and  the  most  artificial 
vices  beneath  a  brow  as  young  and  fair  as  an  opening 
flower. 

At  first  the  angelic  promise  of  those  soft  lineaments  mis- 
led the  friends.  Eaphael  and  fimile  took  the  coffee  which 
she  poured  into  the  cups  brought  by  Aquilina,  and  began  to 
talk  with  her.  In  the  eyes  of  the  two  poets  she  soon  became 
transformed  into  some  sombre  allegory,  of  I  know  not  what 
aspect  of  human  life.  She  opposed  to  the  vigorous  and 
ardent  expression  of  her  commanding  acquaintance  a  revela- 
tion of  heartless  corruption  and  voluptuous  cruelty.  Heed- 
less enough  to  perpetrate  a  crime,  hardy  enough  to  feel  no 
misgivings;  a  pitiless  demon  that  wrings  larger  and  kinder 
natures  with  torments  that  it  is  incapable  of  knowing,  that 
simpers  over  a  traffic  in  love,  sheds  tears  over  a  victim's 
funeral,  and  beams  with  joy  over  the  reading  of  the  will. 
A  poet  might  have  admired  the  magnificent  Aquilina ;  but  the 
winning  Euphrasia  must  be  repulsive  to  every  one — the 
first  was  the  soul  of  sin ;  the  second,  sin  without  a  soul  in  it. 

"I  should  dearly  like  to  know,"  fimile  remarked  to  this 
pleasing  being,  "if  you  ever  reflect  upon  your  future  ?" 

"My  future  V  she  answered  with  a  laugh.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  my  future?  Why  should  I  think  about  something 
that  does  not  exist  as  yet?  I  never  look  before  or  behind. 
Isn't  one  day  at  a  time  more  than  I  can  concern  myself  with 
as  it  is?  And  besides,  the  future,  as  we  know,  means  the 
hospital." 

"How  can  you  foresee  a  future  in  the  hospital,  and  make 
no  effort  to  avert  it  ?" 

"What  is  there  so  alarming  about  the  hospital  ?"  asked  the 
terrific  Aquilina.  "When  we  are  neither  wives  nor  mothers, 
when  old  age  draws  black  stockings  over  our  limbs,  sets 


THE  TALISMAN  63 

wrinkles  on  our  brows,  withers  up  the  woman  in  us,  and 
darkens  the  light  in  our  lover's  eyes,  what  could  we  need 
when  that  comes  to  pass?  You  would  look  on  us  then  as 
mere  human  clay;  we  with  our  habiliments  shall  be  for  you 
like  so  much  mud — worthless,  lifeless,  crumbling  to  pieces, 
going  about  with  the  rustle  of  dead  leaves.  Eags  or  the 
daintiest  finery  will  be  as  one  to  us  then;  the  ambergris  of 
the  boudoir  will  breathe  an  odor  of  death  and  dry  bones ;  and 
suppose  there  is  a  heart  there  in  that  mud,  not  one  of  you 
but  would  make  mock  of  it,  not  so  much  as  a  memory  will  you 
spare  to  us.  Is  not  our  existence  precisely  the  same  whether 
we  live  in  a  fine  mansion  with  lap-dogs  to  tend,  or  sort  rags 
in  a  workhouse?  Does  it  make  much  difference  whether  we 
shall  hide  our  gray  heads  beneath  lace  or  a  handkerchief 
striped  with  blue  and  red ;  whether  we  sweep  a  crossing  with 
a  birch  broom,  or  the  steps  of  the  Tuileries  with  satins; 
whether  we  sit  beside  a  gilded  hearth,  or  cower  over  the  ashes 
in  a  red  earthen  pot ;  whether  we  go  to  the  Opera  or  look  on 
in  the  Place  de  Greve  ?" 

"Aquilina  mia,  you  have  never  shown  more  sense  than  in 
this  depressing  fit  of  yours,"  Euphrasia  remarked.  *'Yes, 
cashmere,  point  d'Alengon,  perfumes,  gold,  silks,  luxury, 
everything  that  sparkles,  everything  pleasant,  belongs  to 
youth  alone.  Time  alone  may  show  us  our  folly,  but  good 
fortune  will  acquit  us.  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  malicious  glance  at  the  friends;  *T)ut  am  I  not 
right?  I  would  sooner  die  of  pleasure  than  of  illness.  I 
am  not  afflicted  with  a  mania  for  perpetuity,  nor  have  I  a 
great  veneration  for  human  nature,  such  as  God  has  made  it. 
Give  me  millions,  and  I  would  squander  them ;  I  should  not 
keep  one  centime  for  the  year  to  come.  Live  to  be  charming 
and  have  power,  that  is  the  decree  of  my  every  heartbeat. 
Society  sanctions  my  life;  does  it  not  pay  for  my  ex- 
travagances? Why  does  Providence  pay  me  every  morning 
my  income,  which  I  spend  every  evening  ?  Why  are  hospitals 
built  for  us?  And  Providence  did  not  put  good  and  evil  on 
either  hand  for  us  to  select  what  tires  and  pains  us.  I  should 
be  very  foolish  if  I  did  not  amuse  myself." 


64  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"And  how  about  others  ?"  asked  fimile. 

"Others?  Oh,  well,  they  must  manage  for  themselves.  I 
prefer  laughing  at  their  woes  to  weeping  over  my  own.  I 
defy  any  man  to  give  me  the  slightest  uneasiness.", 

''What  have  you  suffered  to  make  you  think  like  this?" 
asked  Eaphael. 

"I  myself  have  been  forsaken  for  an  inheritance,"  she  said, 
striking  an  attitude  that  displayed  all  her  charms;  "and  yet 
I  had  worked  night  and  day  to  keep  my  lover !  I  am  not  to 
be  gulled  by  any  smile  or  vow,  and  I  have  set  myself  to  make 
one  long  entertainment  of  my  life." 

"But  does  not  happiness  come  from  the  soul  within  ?"  cried 
Raphael. 

"It  may  be  so,"  Aquilina  answered;  "but  is  it  nothing  to 
be  conscious  of  admiration  and  flattery;  to  triumph  over 
other  women,  even  over  the  most  virtuous,  humiliating  them 
before  our  beauty  and  our  splendor?  Not  only  so;  one 
day  of  our  life  is  worth  ten  years  of  a  hourgeoise  existence, 
and  so  it  is  all  summed  up." 

"Is  not  a  woman  hateful  without  virtue?"  Emile  said  to 
Eaphael. 

Euphrasia's  glance  was  like  a  viper's,  as  she  said,  with  an 
irony  in  her  voice  that  cannot  be  rendered: 

"Virtue!  we  leave  that  to  deformity  and  to  ugly  women. 
What  would  the  poor  things  be  without  it?" 

"Hush,  be  quiet,"  fimile  broke  in.  "Don't  talk  about 
something  you  have  never  known." 

"That  I  have  never  known !"  Euphrasia  answered,  "You 
give  yourself  for  life  to  some  person  you  abominate;  you 
must  bring  up  children  who  will  neglect  you,  who  wound 
your  very  heart,  and  you  must  say,  'Thank  you !'  for 
it;  and  these  are  the  virtues  you  prescribe  to  woman.  And 
that  is  not  enough.  By  way  of  requiting  her  self-denial,  you 
must  come  and  add  to  her  sorrows  by  trying  to  lead  her 
astray;  and  though  you  are  rebuffed,  she  is  compromised. 
A  nice  life !  How  far  better  to  keep  one's  freedom,  to  follow 
one's  inclinations  in  love,  and  die  young  p" 


THE  TALISMAN  6S 

''Have  you  no  fear  of  the  price  to  be  paid  some  day  for 
all  this?" 

"Even  then/^  she  said,  "instead  of  mingling  pleasures  and 
troubles,  my  life  will  consist  of  two  separate  parts — a  youth  of 
happiness  is  secure,  and  there  may  come  a  hazy,  uncert-ain 
old  age,  during  which  I  can  suffer  at  my  leisure/' 

"She  has  never  loved,"  came  in  the  deep  tones  of  Aquilina's 
voice.  "She  never  went  a  hundred  leagues  to  drink  in  one 
|look  and  a  denial  with  untold  raptures.  She  has  not  hung 
her  own  life  on  a  thread,  nor  tried  to  stab  more  than  one  man 
to  save  her  sovereign  lord,  her  king,  her  divinity.  .  .  . 
Love,  for  her,  meant  a  fascinating  colonel." 

"Here  she  is  with  her  La  Eochelle,"  Euphrasia  made 
answer.  "Love  comes  like  the  wind,  no  one  knoAvs  whence. 
And,  for  that  matter,  if  one  of  those  brutes  had  once  fallen 
in  love  with  you,  you  would  hold  sensible  men  in  horror." 

"Brutes  are  put  out  of  the  question  by  the  Code,"  said  the 
tall,  sarcastic  Aquilina. 

"I  thought  you  had  more  kindness  for  the  army,"  laughed 
Euphrasia. 

"How  happy  they  are  in  their  power  of  dethroning  their 
reason  in  this  way,"  Eaphael  exclaimed. 

"Happy?"  asked  Aquilina,  with  a  dreadful  look,  and  a 
smile  full  of  pity  and  terror.  "Ah,  you  do  not  know  what 
it  is  to  be  condemned  to  a  life  of  pleasure,  with  your  dead 
hidden  in  your  heart.     .     .     ." 

A  moment's  consideration  of  the  rooms  was  like  a  foretaste 
of  Milton's  Pandemonium.  The  faces  of  those  still  capable 
of  drinking  wore  a  hideous  blue  tint,  from  burning  draughts 
of  punch.  Mad  dances  were  kept  up  with  wild  energy ;  ex- 
cited laughter  and  outcries  broke  out  like  the  explosion  of 
fireworks.  The  boudoir  and  a  small  adjoining  room  were 
strewn  like  a  battlefield  with  the  insensible  and  incapable. 
Wine,  pleasure,  and  dispute  had  heated  the  atmosphere. 
Wine  and  love,  delirium  and  unconsciousness  possessed  them, 
and  were  written  upon  all  faces,  upon  the  furniture;  were 
expressed  by  the  surrounding  disorder,  and  brought  light 
5 


66  'TC'HE  MAGIC  SKIN 

films  over  the  vision  of  those  assembled,  so  that  the  air  seemed 
full  of  intoxicating  vapor.  A  glittering  dust  arose,  as  in  the 
luminous  paths  made  by  a  ray  of  sunlight,  the  most  bizarre 
forms  flitted  through  it,  grotesque  struggles  were  seen 
athwart  it.  Groups  of  interlaced  figures  blended  with  the  white 
marbles,  the  noble  masterpieces  of  sculpture  that  adorned  the 
rooms. 

Though  the  two  friends  yet  preserved  a  sort  of  fallacious 
clearness  in  their  ideas  and  voices,  a  feeble  appearance  and 
faint  thrill  of  animation,  it  was  yet  almost  impossible  to  dis- 
tinguish what  was  real  among  the  fantastic  absurdities  before 
them,  or  what  foundation  there  was  for  the  impossible 
pictures  that  passed  unceasingly  before  their  weary  eyes. 
The  strangest  phenomena  of  dreams  beset  them,  the  lowering 
heavens,  the  fervid  sweetness  caught  by  faces  in  our  visions, 
and  unheard-of  agility  under  a  load  of  chains, — all  these  so 
vividly,  that  they  took  the  pranks  of  the  orgy  about  them 
for  the  freaks  of  some  nightmare  in  which  all  movement  is 
silent,  and  cries  never  reach  the  ear.  The  vaJ^t  de  chamhre 
succeeded  just  then,  after  some  little  difficulty,  in  drawing 
his  master  into  the  ante-chamber  to  whisper  to  him : 

"The  neighbors  are  all  at  their  windows,  complaining  of 
the  racket,  sir." 

"If  noise  alarms  them,  why  don't  they  lay  down  straw  be- 
fore their  doors  ?'^  was  Taillefer's  rejoinder. 

Raphael's  sudden  burst  of  laughter  was  so  unseasonable  and 
abrupt,  that  his  friend  demanded  the  reason  of  his  unseemly 
hilarity. 

"You  will  hardly  understand  me,"  he  replied.  "In  the  first 
place,  I  must  admit  that  you  stopped  me  on  the  Quai  Voltaire 
just  as  I  was  about  to  throw  myself  into  the  Seine,  and  you 
would  like  to  know,  no  doubt,  my  motives  for  dying.  And 
when  I  proceed  to  tell  you  that  by  an  almost  miraculous 
chance  the  most  poetic  memorials  of  the  material  world  had 
but  just  then  been  summed  up  for  me  as  a  symbolical  in- 
terpretation of  human  wisdom ;  whilst  at  this  minute  the  re- 
mains of  all  the  intellectual  treasures  ravaged  by  us  at  table 


THE  TALISMAN  67 

are  comprised  in  these  two  women,  the  living  and  authentic 
types  of  folly,  would  you- be  any  the  wiser?  Our  profound 
apathy  towards  men  and  things  supplied  the  half-tones  in  a 
crudely  contrasted  picture  of  two  theories  of  life  so 
diametrically  opposed.  If  you  were  not  drunk,  you  might 
perhaps  catch  a  gleam  of  philosophy  in  this." 

"And  if  you  had  not  both  feet  on  that  fascinating  Aquilina, 
whose  heavy  breathing  suggests  an  analogy  with  the  sounds 
of  a  storm  about  to  burst,"  replied  fimile,  absently  engaged 
in  the  harmless  amusement  of  winding  and  unwinding 
Euphrasia's  hair,  "you  would  be  ashamed  of  your  inebriated 
garrulity.  Both  your  systems  can  be  packed  in  a  phrase, 
and  reduced  to  a  single  idea.  The  mere  routine  of  living 
brings  a  stupid  kind  of  wisdom  with  it,  by  blunting  our  in- 
telligence with  work;  and  on  the  other  hand,  a  life  passed 
in  the  limbo  of  the  abstract  or  in  the  abysses  of  the  moral 
world,  produces  a  sort  of  wisdom  run  mad.  The  conditions 
may  be  summed  up  in  brief;  we  may  extinguish  emotion, 
and  so  live  to  old  age,  or  we  may  choose  to  die  young  as 
martyrs  to  contending  passions.  And  yet  this  decree  is  at 
variance  with  the  temperaments  with  which  we  were  endowed 
by  the  bitter  jester  who  modeled  all  creatures." 

"Idiot !"  Eaphael  burst  in.  "Go  on  epitomizing  j^ourself 
after  that  fashion,  and  5^ou  will  fill  volumes.  If  I  attempted 
to  formulate  those  two  ideas  clearly,  I  might  as  well  say  that 
man  is  corrupted  by  the  exercise  of  his  wits,  and  purified  by 
ignorance.  You  are  calling  the  whole  fabric  of  society  to  ac- 
count. But  whether  we  live  with  the  wise  or  perish  with  the 
fool,  isn't  the  result  the  same  sooner  or  later  ?  And  have  not 
the  prime  constituents  of  the  quintessence  of  both  systems 
been  before  expressed  in  a  couple  of  words — Carymary,  Gary- 
mara." 

'Tou  make  me  doubt  the  existence  of  a  God,  for  your 
stupidity  is  greater  than  His  power,"  said  fimile.  "Our  be- 
loved Rabelais  summed  it  all  up  in  a  shorter  word  than  your 
'Carymary,  Carymara;'  from  his  Peut-Hre  Montaigne  de- 
rived his  own  Que  sais-je?  After  all,  this  last  word  of 
moral  science  is  scarcely  more  than  the  cry  of  Pyrrhus  set 


68  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

betwixt  good  and  evil,  or  Buridan's  ass  between  the  two 
measures  of  oats.  But  let  this  everlasting  question  alone,  re- 
solved to-day  by  a  'Yes'  and  a  'No.'  What  experience  did 
you  look  to  find  by  a  jump  into  the  Seine  ?  Were  you  jealous 
of  the  hydraulic  machine  on  the  Pont  Notre  Dame  ?" 

"Ah,  if  you  but  knew  my  history !" 

"Pooh,"  said  fimile ;  "I  did  not  think  you  could  be  so  com- 
monplace; that  remark  is  hackneyed.  Don't  you  know  that 
every  one  of  us  claims  to  have  suffered  as  no  other  ever 
did?" 

"Ah !"  Eaphael  sighed. 

"What  a  mountebank  art  thou  with  thy  *Ah' !  Look  here, 
now.  Does  some  disease  of  mind  or  body,  by  contracting 
your  muscles,  bring  back  of  a  morning  the  wild  horses  that 
tear  you  in  pieces  at  night,  as  with  Damiens  once  upon  a 
time  ?  Were  you  driven  to  sup  off  your  own  dog  in  a  garret, 
uncooked  and  without  salt?  Have  your  children  ever  cried, 
I  am  hungry'  ?  Have  you  sold  your  mistress'  hair  to  hazard 
the  money  at  play  ?  Have  you  ever  drawn  a  sham  bill  of  ex- 
change on  a  fictitious  uncle  at  a  sham  address,  and  feared  lest 
you  should  not  be  in  time  to  take  it  up?  Come  now,  I  am 
attending !  If  you  were  going  to  drown  yourself  for  some 
woman,  or  by  way  of  a  protest,  or  out  of  sheer  dulness,  I  dis- 
own you.  Make  your  confession,  and  no  lies !  I  don't  at  all 
want  a  historical  memoir.  And,  above  all  things,  be  as 
concise  as  your  clouded  intellect  permits ;  I  am  as  critical  as 
a  professor,  and  as  sleepy  as  a  woman  at  her  vespers." 

"You  silly  fool !"  said  Raphael.  "When  has  not  suffering 
been  keener  for  a  more  susceptible  nature?  Some  day  when 
science  has  attained  to  a  pitch  that  enables  us  to  study  the 
natural  history  of  hearts,  when  they  are  named  and  classified 
in  genera,  sub-genera,  and  families;  into  crustaceae,  fossils, 
saurians,  infusoria,  or  whatever  it  is, — then,  my  dear  fellow, 
it  will  be  ascertained  that  there  are  natures  as  tender  and 
fragile  as  flowers,  that  are  broken  by  the  slight  bruises  that 
some  stony  hearts  do  not  even  feel " 

"For  pity's  sake,  spare  me  thy  exordium,"  said  Emile, 
as,  half  plaintive,  half  amused,  he  took  Raphael's  hand. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  69 

n 

A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART 

Apter  a  moment's  silence,  Eaphael  said  with  a  careless 
gesture :  i 

"Perhaps  it  is  an  effect  of  the  fumes  of  punch — I  really 
cannot  tell — this  clearness  of  mind  that  enables  me  to  com- 
prise my  whole  life  in  a  single  picture,  where  figures  and 
hues,  lights,  shades,  and  half-tones  are  faithfully  rendered. 
I  should  not  have  been  so  surprised  at  this  poetical  play  of 
imagination  if  it  were  not  accompanied  with  a  sort  of  scorn 
for  my  past  joys  and  sorrows.  Seen  from  afar,  my  life  ap- 
pears to  contract  by  some  mental  process.  That  long,  slow 
agony  of  ten  years'  duration  can  be  brought  to  memory  to- 
day in  some  few  phrases,  in  which  pain  is  resolved  into  a 
mere  idea,  and  pleasure  becomes  a  philosophical  reflection. 
Instead  of  feeling  things,  I  weigh  and  consider  them " 

"You  are  as  tiresome  as  the  explanation  of  an  amendment," 
cried  fimile. 

"Very  likely,"  said  Eaphael  submissively.  "I  spare  you 
the  first  seventeen  years  of  my  life  for  fear  of  abusing  a 
listener's  patience.  Till  that  time,  like  you  and  thousands 
of  others,  I  had  lived  my  life  at  school  or  the  lycee,  with  its 
imaginary  troubles  and  genuine  happinesses,  which  are  so 
pleasant  to  look  back  upon.  Our  jaded  palates  still  crave  for 
that  Lenten  fare,  so  long  as  we  have  not  tried  it  afresh.  It 
was  a  pleasant  life,  with  the  tasks  that  we  thought  so 
contemptible,  but  which  taught  us  application  for  all 
that.     .     .     ." 

"Let  the  drama  begin,"  said  :Emile,  half-plaintively,  half- 
comically. 

"When  I  left  school,"  Eaphael  went  on,  with  a  gesture  that 
claimed  the  right  of  speaking,  "my  father  submitted  me  to 
a  strict  discipline;  he  installed  me  in  a  room  near  his  own 


70  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

study,  and  I  had  to  rise  at  five  in  the  morning  and  be  in  bed 
by  nine  at  night.  He  meant  me  to  take  my  law  studies 
seriously.  I  attended  the  Schools,  and  read  with  an  advocate 
as  well,  but  my  lectures  and  work  were  so  narrowly  circum- 
scribed by  the  laws  of  time  and  space,  and  my  father  re- 
quired such  a  strict  account  of  my  doings,  at  dinner, 
that     .     .     ." 

"What  is  this  to  me  ?"  asked  Emile. 

"The  devil  take  you!"  said  Eaphael.  "How  are  you  to 
enter  into  my  feelings  if  I  do  not  relate  the  facts  that 
insensibly  shaped  my  character,  made  me  timid,  and  pro- 
longed the  period  of  youthful  simplicity?  In  this  manner 
I  cowered  under  as  strict  a  despotism  as  a  monarch's  till  I 
came  of  age.  To  depict  the  tedium  of  my  life,  it  will  be 
perhaps  enough  to  portray  my  father  to  you.  He  was  tall, 
thin,  and  slight,  with  a  hatchet  face,  and  pale  complexion; 
a  man  of  few  words,  fidgety  as  an  old  maid,  exacting  as  a 
senior  clerk.  His  paternal  solicitude  hovered  over  my  merri- 
ment and  gleeful  thoughts,  and  seemed  to  cover  them  with  a 
leaden  pall.  Any  effusive  demonstration  on  my  part  was  re- 
ceived by  him  as  a  childish  absurdity^  I  was  far  more  afraid 
of  him  than  I  had  been  of  any  of  our  masters  at  school. 

"I  seem  to  see  him  before  me  at  this  moment.  In  his 
chestnut-brown  frock-coat  he  looked  like  a  red  herring 
wrapped  up  in  the  cover  of  a  pamphlet,  and  he  held  himself 
as  erect  as  an  Easter  candle.  But  I  was  fond  of  my  father, 
and  at  heart  he  was  right  enough.  Perhaps  we  never  hate 
severity  when  it  has  its  source  in  greatness  of  character  and 
pure  morals,  and  is  skilfully  tempered  with  kindness.  My 
father,  it  is  true,  never  left  me  a  moment  to  myself,  and 
only  when  I  was  twenty  years  old  gave  me  so  much  as  ten 
francs  of  my  own,  ten  knavish  prodigals  of  francs,  such  a 
hoard  as  I  had  long  vainly  desired,  which  set  me  a-dreamingr 
of  unutterable  felicity;  yet,  for  all  that,  he  sought  to  procure 
relaxations  for  me.  When  he  had  promised  me  a  treat  be- 
forehand, he  would  take  me  to  Les  Bouffons,  or  to  a  concert 
or   ball,    where    I    hoped   to    find    a    mistress.     ...     A 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  71 

mistress !  that  meant  independence.  But  bashful  and  timid 
as  I  was,  knowing  nobody,  and  ignorant  of  the  dialect  of 
drawing-rooms,  I  alwa)'S  came  back  as  awkward  as  ever,  and 
swelling  with  unsatisfied  desires,  to  be  put  in  harness  like  a 
troop  horse  next  day  by  my  father,  and  to  return  with  morn- 
ing to  my  advocate,  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  the  law.  To 
have  swerved  from  the  straight  course  which  my  father  had 
mapped  out  for  me,  would  have  drawn  down  his  wrath  upon 
me;  at  my  first  delinquency,  he  threatened  to  ship  me  off  as< 
a  cabin-boy  to  the  Antilles.  A  dreadful  shiver  ran  through 
me  if  I  had  ventured  to  spend  a  couple  of  hours  in  some 
pleasure  party. 

"Imagine  the  most  wandering  imagination  and  passionate 
temperament,  the  tenderest  soul  and  most  artistic  nature, 
dwelling  continually  in  the  presence  of  the  most  flint- 
hearted,  atrabilious,  and  frigid  man  on  earth;  think  of  me 
as  a  young  girl  married  to  a  skeleton,  and  you  will  under- 
stand the  life  whose  curious  scenes  can  only  be  a  hearsay  tale 
to  you ;  the  plans  for  running  away  that  perished  at  the  sight 
of  my  father,  the  despair  soothed  by  slumber,  the  dark  brood- 
ings  charmed  away  by  music.  I  breathed  my  sorrows  forth 
in  melodies.  Beethoven  or  Mozart  would  keep  my  con- 
fidences sacred.  Nowadays,  I  smile  at  recollections  of  the 
scruples  which  burdened  by  conscience  at  that  epoch  of  in- 
nocence and  virtue. 

"If  I  set  foot  in  a  restaurant,  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost ;  my 
fancy  led  me  to  look  on  a  cafe  as  a  disreputable  haunt,  where 
men  lost  their  characters  and  embarrassed  their  fortunes; 
as  for  engaging  in  play,  I  had  not  the  money  to  risk.  Oh, 
if  I  needed  to  send  you  to  sleep,  I  would  tell  you  about  one  of 
the  most  frightful  pleasures  of  my  life,  one  of  those  pleasures 
with  fangs  that  bury  themselves  in  the  heart  as  the  branding- 
iron  enters  the  convict's  shoulder.  I  was  at  a  ball  at  the 
house  of  the  Due  de  Navarreins,  my  father's  cousin.  But  to 
make  my  position  the  more  perfectly  clear,  you  must  know 
that  I  wore  a  threadbare  coat,  ill-fitting  shoes,  a  tie  fit  for  a 
stableman,  and  a  soiled  pair  of  gloves.     I  shrank  into  a 


72  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

corner  to  eat  ices  and  watch  the  pretty  faces  at  my  leisure. 
My  father  noticed  me.  Actuated  by  some  motive  that  I  did 
not  fathom,  so  dumfounded  was  I  by  this  act  of  confidence, 
he  handed  me  his  keys  and  purse  to  keep.  Ten  paces  away 
some  men  were  gambling,  I  heard  the  rattling  of  gold;  I 
was  twenty  years  old;  I  longed  to  be  steeped  for  one  whole 
day  in  the  follies  of  my  time  of  life.  It  was  a  license  of  the 
imagination  that  would  find  a  parallel  neither  in  the  freaks  of 
courtesans,  nor  in  the  dreams  of  young  girls.  For  a  year 
past  I  had  beheld  myself  well  dressed,  in  a  carriage,  with  a 
pretty  woman  by  my  side,  playing  the  great  lord,  dining  at 
Very's,  deciding  not  to  go  back  home  till  the  morrow;  but 
was  prepared  for  my  father  with  a  plot  more  intricate  than 
the  Marriage  of  Figaro,  which  he  could  not  possibly  have  un- 
raveled. All  this  bliss  would  cost,  I  estimated,  fifty  crowns. 
Was  it  not  the  artless  idea  of  playing  truant  that  still  had 
charms  for  me? 

"I  went  into  a  small  adjoining  room,  and  when  alone 
counted  my  father's  money  with  smarting  eyes  and  trembling 
fingers — a  hundred  crowns !  The  joys  of  my  escapade  rose 
before  me  at  the  thought  of  the  amount;  joys  that  flitted 
about  me  like  Macbeth's  witches  round  their  caldron;  joys 
how  alluring !  how  thrilling !  how  delicious  !  I  became  a  de- 
liberate rascal.  I  heeded  neither  my  tingling  ears  nor  the 
violent  beating  of  my  heart,  but  took  out  two  twenty-franc 
pieces  that  I  seem  to  see  yet.  The  dates  had  been  erased,  and 
Bonaparte's  head  simpered  upon  them.  After  I  had  put  back 
the  purse  in  mj  pocket,  I  returned  to  a  gaming-table  with 
the  two  pieces  of  gold  in  the  palms  of  my  damp  hands, 
prowling  about  the  players  like  a  sparrow-hawk  round  a  coop 
of  chickens.  Tormented  by  inexpressible  terror,  I  flung  a 
sudden  clairvoyant  glance  round  me,  and  feeling  quite  sure 
ithat  I  was  seen  by  none  of  my  acquaintance,  betted  on  a 
stout,  jovial  little  man,  heaping  upon  his  head  more  pra3'-ers 
and  vows  than  are  put  up  during  two  or  three  storms  at 
sea.  Then,  with  an  intuitive  scoundrelism,  or  Machiavelism, 
surprising  in  one  of  my  age,  I  went  and  stood  in  the  door. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  73 

and  looked  about  me  in  the  rooms,  though  I  saw  nothing ;  for 
both  mind  and  eyes  hovered  about  that  fateful  green 
cloth. 

"That  evening  fixes  the  date  of  a  first  observation  of  a> 
physiological  kind;  to  it  I  owe  a  kind  of  insight  into  certain 
mysteries  of  cur  double  nature  that  I  have  since  been  enabled 
to  penetrate.  I  had  my  back  turned  on  the  table  where  my 
future  felicity  lay  at  stake,  a  felicity  but  so  much  the  more  in- 
tense that  it  was  criminal.  Between  me  and  the  players  stood 
a  wall  of  onlookers  some  five  feet  deep,  who  were  chatting ;  the 
murmur  of  voices  drowned  the  clinking  of  gold,  which 
mingled  in  the  sounds  sent  up  by  this  orchestra;  yet,  despite 
all  obstacles,  I  distinctly  heard  the  words  of  the  two  players 
by  a  gift  accorded  to  the  passions,  which  enables  them  to 
annihilate  time  and  space.  I  saw  the  points  they  made;  I 
knew  which  of  the  two  turned  up  the  king  as  well  as  if  I  had 
actually  seen  the  cards;  at  a  distance  of  ten  paces,  in  short, 
the  fortunes  of  play  blanched  my  face. 

'•'My  father  suddenly  went  by,  and  then  I  knew  what  the 
Scripture  meant  by  'The  Spirit  of  God  passed  before  his 
face.'  I  had  won.  I  slipped  through  the  crowd  of  men 
who  had  gathered  about  the  players  with  the  quickness  of 
an  eel  escaping  through  a  broken  mesh  in  a  net.  My  nerves 
thrilled  with  joy  instead  of  anguish.  I  felt  like  some 
criminal  on  the  way  to  torture  released  by  a  chance  meeting 
with  the  king.  It  happened  that  a  man  with  a  decoration 
found  himself  short  by  forty  francs.  Uneasy  eyes  suspected 
me;  I  turned  pale,  and  drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  my 
forehead,  I  was  well  punished,  I  thought,  for  having  robbed 
my  father.  Then  the  kind  little  stout  man  said,  in  a  voice  like 
an  angel's  surely,  'All  these  gentlemen  have  paid  their  stakes,' 
and  put  dovm  the  forty  francs  himself.  I  raised  my  head  in 
triumph  upon  the  players.  After  I  had  returned  the  money 
I  had  taken  from  it  to  my  father's  purse,  I  left  my  winnings 
with  that  honest  and  worthy  gentleman,  who  continued  to 
win.  As  soon  as  I  found  myself  possessed  of  a  hundred  and 
sixty  francs,  I  wrapped  them  up  in  my  handkerchief,  so  that 


W  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

they  could  neither  move  nor  rattle  or  the  way  back;  and  I 
played  no  more. 

"  'What  were  you  doing  at  the  card-table  ?'  said  my  father 
as  "we  stepped  into  the  carriage. 

"  'I  was  looking  on/  I  answered,  trembling. 

"  'But  it  would  have  been  nothing  out  of  the  common  if 
you  had  been  prompted  by  self-love  to  put  some  money  down 
on  the  table.  In  the  eyes  of  men  of  the  world  you  are  quite 
old  enough  to  assume  the  right  to  commit  such  follies.  So  I 
should  have  pardoned  you,  Kaphael,  if  you  had  made  use  of 
my  purse ' 

"I  did  not  answer.  When  we  reached  home,  I  returned 
the  keys  and  money  to  my  father.  As  he  entered  his  study, 
he  emptied  out  his  purse  on  the  mantelpiece,  counted  the 
mone}^,  and  turned  to  me  with  a  kindly  look,  saying, 
with  more  or  less  long  and  significant  pauses  between  each 
phrase : 

"  'My  boy,  you  are  very  nearly  twenty  now.  I  am  satisfied 
with  you.  You  ought  to  have  an  allowance,  if  only  to  teach 
you  how  to  lay  it  out,  and  to  gain  some  acquaintance  with 
evervday  business.  Henceforward  I  shall  let  you  have  a 
hundred  francs  each  month.  Here  is  your  first  quarter's  in- 
come for  this  year,'  he  added,  fingering  a  pile  of  gold,  as 
if  to  make  sure  that  the  amount  was  correct.  'Do  what  you 
please  with  it.' 

"I  confess  that  I  was  ready  to  fling  myself  at  his  feet,  to 
tell  him  that  I  was  a  thief,  a  scoundrel,  and,  worse  than  all,  a 
liar !  But  a  feeling  of  shame  held  me  back.  I  went  up  to 
him  for  an  embrace,  but  he  gently  pushed  me  away. 

"  'You  are  a  man  now,  my  child,'  he  said.  'What  I  have 
just  done  was  a  very  proper  and  simple  thing,  for  which  there 
is  no  need  to  thank  me.  If  I  have  any  claim  to  your  grati- 
tude, Raphael,'  he  went  on,  in  a  kind  but  dignified  way,  'it 
is  because  I  have  preserved  your  youth  from  the  evils  that 
destroy  young  men  in  Paris.  We  will  be  two  friends  hence- 
forth. In  a  year's  time  you  will  be  a  doctor  of  law.  'N'ot 
without  some  hardship  and  privation  you  have  acquired  the 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  78 

80ub5  knowledge  and  the  love  of,  and  application  to,  work 
that  is  indispensable  to  public  men.  You  must  learn  to 
know  me,  Eaphael.  I  do  not  want  to  make  either  an  advocate 
or  a  notary  of  you,  but  a  statesman,  who  shall  be  the  pride  of 
our  poor  house.     .     .     .     Good-night,'  he  added. 

"Frora  that  day  my  father  took  me  fully  into  confidence. 
I  was  an  only  son;  and,  ten  years  before,  I  had  lost  my 
mother.  In  time  past  my  father,  the  head  of  a  historic 
family  remembered  even  now  in  Auvergne,  had  come  to  Paris' 
to  fight  against  his  evil  star,  dissatisfied  at  the  prospect  of 
tilling  the  soil,  with  his  useless  sword  by  his  side.  He  was 
endowed  with  the  shrewdness  that  gives  the  men  of  the  south 
of  France  a  certain  ascendency  when  energy  goes  with  it. 
Almost  unaided,  he  made  a  position  for  himself  near  the 
fountain  of  power.  The  Eevolution  brought  a  reverse  of 
fortune,  but  he  had  managed  to  marry  an  heiress  of  good 
family,  and,  in  the  time  of  the  Empire,  appeared  to  be  on 
the  point  of  restoring  to  our  house  its  ancient  splendor. 

"The  Restoration,  while  it  brought  back  considerable  prop- 
erty to  my  mother,  was  my  father's  ruin.  He  had  formerly 
purchased  several  estates  abroad,  conferred  by  the  Emperor 
on  his  generals;  and  now  for  ten  years  he  struggled  with 
liquidators,  diplomatists,  and  Prussian  and  Bavarian  courts 
of  law,  over  the  disputed  possession  of  these  unfortunate  en- 
dowments. My  father  plunged  me  into  the  intricate 
labyrinths  of  law  proceedings  on  which  our  future  depended. 
We  might  be  compelled  to  return  the  rents,  as  well  as  the 
proceeds  arising  from  sales  of  timber  made  during  the  years 
1814  to  1817;  in  that  case  my  mother's  property  would  have 
barely  saved  our  credit.  So  it  fell  out  that  the  day  on 
which  my  father  in  a  fashion  emancipated  me,  brought  me 
under  a  most  galling  yoke.  I  entered  on  a  conflict  like  a 
battlefield ;  I  must  work  day  and  night ;  seek  interviews  with 
statesmen,  surprise  their  convictions,  try  to  interest  them  in 
our  affairs,  and  gain  them  over,  with  their  wives  and  servants, 
and  their  very  dogs ;  and  all  this  abominable  business  had  to 
take  the  form  of  pretty  speeches  and  polite  attentions.     Then 


76  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

I  knew  the  mortifications  that  had  left  their  blighting  traces 
on  my  father's  face.  For  about  a  year  I  led  outwardly  the 
life  of  a  man  of  the  world,  but  enormous  labors  lay  beneath 
the  surface  of  gadding  about,  and  eager  efforts  to  attach  my- 
self to  influential  kinsmen,  or  to  people  likely  to  be  useful  to 
us.  My  relaxations  were  lawsuits,  and  memorials  still  fur- 
nished the  staple  of  my  conversation.  Hitherto'  my  life  had 
been  blameless,  from  the  sheer  impossibility  of  indulging  the 
(desires  of  youth;  but  now  I  became  my  own  master,  and  in 
dread  of  involving  us  both  in  ruin  by  some  piece  of 
negligence,  I  did  not  dare  to  allow  myself  any  pleasure 
or  expenditure. 

"While  we  are  young,  and  before  the  world  has  rubbed  off 
the  delicate  bloom  from  our  sentiments,  the  freshness  of  our 
impressions,  the  noble  purity  of  conscience  which  will  never 
allow  us  to  palter  with  evil,  the  sense  of  duty  is  very  strong 
within  us,  the  voice  of  honor  clamors  within  us,  and  we  are 
open  and  straightforward.  At  that  time  I  was  all  these  things. 
I  wished  to  justify  my  father's  confidence  in  me.  But  lately 
I  would  have  stolen  a  paltry  sum  from  him,  with  secret  de- 
light ;  but  now  that  I  shared  the  burden  of  his  affairs,  of  his 
name  and  of  his  house,  I  would  secretly  have  given  up  my 
fortune  and  my  hopes  for  him,  as  I  was  sacrificing  my 
pleasures,  and  even  have  been  glad  of  the  sacrifice !  So  when 
M.  de  Villele  exhumed,  for  our  special  benefit,  an  imperial 
decree  concerning  forfeitures,  and  had  ruined  us,  I  authorized 
the  sale  of  my  property,  only  retaining  an  island  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  Loire  where  my  "mother  was  buried.  Perhaps 
arguments  and  evasions,  philosophical,  philanthropic,  and 
political  considerations  would  not  fail  me  now,  to  hinder  the 
perpetration  of  what  my  solicitor  termed  a  'folly ;'  but  at  one- 
and-twenty,  I  repeat,  we  are  all  aglow  with  generosity  and 
affection.  The  tears  that  stood  in  my  father's  eyes  were  to 
me  the  most  splendid  of  fortunes,  and  the  thought  of  those 
tears  has  often  soothed  my  sorrow.  Ten  months  after  he 
had  paid  his  creditors,  my  father  died  of  grief;  I  was  his 
idol,  and  he  had  ruined  me  I       The  thought  killed  kim 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  'T7 

Towards  the  end  of  the  autumn  of  1826,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two,  I  was  the  sole  mourner  at  his  graveside — the  grave  of  my 
father  and  my  earliest  friend.  Not  many  young  men  have 
found  themselves  alone  with  their  thoughts  as  they  followed 
a  hearse,  or  have  seen  themselves  lost  in  crowded  Paris,  and 
without  money  or  prospects.  Orphans  rescued  by  public 
charity  have  at  any  rate  the  future  of  the  battlefield  before 
them,  and  find  a  shelter  in  some  institution  and  a  father  in 
the  government  or  in  the  procureur  du  roi.  I  had 
nothing. 

"Three  months  later,  an  agent  made  over  to  me  eleven 
hundred  and  twelve  francs,  the  net  proceeds  of  the  winding 
up  of  my  father's  affairs.  Our  creditors  had  driven  us  to  sell 
our  furniture.  From  my  childhood  I  had  been  used  to  set 
a  high  value  on  the  articles  of  luxury  about  us,  and  I  could 
not  help  showing  my  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  this  meagre 
balance. 

"  'Oh,  rococo,  all  of  it !'  said  the  auctioneer.  A  terrible 
word  that  fell  like  a  blight  on  the  sacred  memories  of  my 
childhood,  and  dispelled  my  earliest  illusions,  the  dearest  of 
all.  My  entire  fortune  was  comprised  in  this  'account  ren- 
dered,' my  future  lay  in  a  linen  bag  with  eleven  hundred  and 
twelve  francs  in  it,  human  society  stood  before  me  in  the  per- 
son of  an  auctioneer's  clerk,  who  kept  his  hat  on  while  he 
spoke.  Jonathan,  an  old  servant  who  was  much  attached  to 
me,  and  whom  my  mother  had  formerly  pensioned  with  an 
annuity  of  four  hundred  francs,  spoke  to  me  9^  I  was  leaving 
the  house  that  I  had  so  often  gaily  left  for  a  d^ive  in  ray 
childhood. 

"  'Be  very  economical.  Monsieur  Eaphael  1* 

"The  good  fellow  was  crying. 

"Such  were  the  events,  dear  fimile,that  ruled  my  destinies, 
moulded  my  character,  and  set  me,  while  still  young,  in  an 
utterly  false  social  position,"  said  Eaphael  after  a  pause. 
"Family  ties,  weak  ones,  it  is  true,  bound  me  to  a  few  wealthy 
houses,  but  my  own  pride  would  have  kept  me  aloof  from 
them  if  contempt  and  indifference  had  not  shut  their  doors 


78  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

on  me  in  the  first  place.  I  was  related  to  people  who  were 
very  influential,  and  who  lavished  their  patronage  on 
strangers ;  but  I  found  neither  relations  nor  patrons  in  them. 
Continually  circumscribed  in  my  affections,  they  recoiled 
upon  me.  Unreserved  and  simple  by  nature,  I  must  have 
appeared  frigid  and  sophisticated.  My  father's  discipline 
had  destroyed  all  confidence  in  myself.  I  was  shy  and  awk- 
ward ;  I  could  not  believe  that  my  opinion  carried  any  weight 
whatever;  I  took  no  pleasure  in  myself;  I  thought  myself 
Ugly,  and  was  ashamed  to  meet  my  own  eyes.  In  spite  of  the 
inward  voice  that  must  be  the  stay  of  a  man  with  anything 
in  him,  in  all  his  struggles,  the  voice  that  cries,  'Courage! 
Go  forward!'  in  spite  of  sudden  revelations  of  my  own 
strength  in  my  solitude;  in  spite  of  the  hopes  that  thrilled 
me  as  I  compared  new  works,  that  the  public  admired  so 
much,  with  the  schemes  that  hovered  in  my  brain, — in  spite 
of  all  this,  I  had  a  childish  mistrust  of  myself. 

"An  overweening  ambition  preyed  upon  me;  I  believed 
that  I  was  meant  for  great  things,  and  yet  I  felt  myself  to  be 
nothing.  I  had  need  of  other  men,  and  I  was  friendless.  I 
found  I  must  make  my  way  in  the  world,  where  I  was 
quite  alone,  and  bashful,  rather  than  afraid. 

"All  through  the  year  in  which,  by  my  father's  wish,  I 
threw  myself  into  the  whirlpool  of  fashionable  society,  I 
came  away  with  an  inexperienced  heart,  and  fresh  in  mind. 
Like  every  grown  child,  I  sighed  in  secret  for  a  love  affair, 
I  met,  among  young  men  of  my  own  age,  a  set  of  swaggerers 
who  held  their  heads  high,  and  talked  about  trifles  as  they 
seated  themselves  without  a  tremor  beside  women  who  in- 
spired awe  in  me.  They  chattered  nonsense,  sucked  the  heads 
of  their  canes,  gave  themselves  affected  airs,  appropriated  the 
fairest  women,  and  laid,  or  pretended  that  they  had  laid  their 
heads  on  every  pillow.  Pleasure,  seemingly,  was  at  their 
beck  and  call ;  they  looked  on  the  most  virtuous  and  prudish 
as  an  easy  prey,  ready  to  surrender  at  a  word,  at  the  slightest 
impudent  gesture  or  insolent  look.  I  declare,  on  m}^  soul 
and  conscience,  that  the  attainment  of  power,  or  of  a  great 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  TO 

name  in  literature,  seemed  to  me  an  easier  victory  than  a  suc- 
cess with  some  young,  witty,  and  gracious  lady  of  high  degree. 

"So  I  found  the  tumult  of  my  heart,  my  feelings,  and  my 
creeds  all  at  variance  with  the  axioms  of  society.  I  had 
plenty  of  audacity  in  my  character,  but  none  in  my  manner. 
Later,  I  found  out  that  women  did  not  like  to  he  implored. 
I  have  from  afar  adored  many  a  one  to  whom  I  devoted  s\ 
soul  proof  against  all  tests,  a  heart  to  break,  energy  that 
shrank  from  no  sacrifice  and  from  no  torture;  they  accepted 
fools  whom  I  would  not  have  engaged  as  hall  porters.  How 
often,  mute  and  motionless,  have  I  not  admired  the  lady  of 
my  dreams,  swaying  in  the  dance ;  given  up  my  life  in  thought 
to  one  eternal  caress,  expressed  all  my  hopes  in  a  look,  and 
laid  before  her,  in  my  rapture,  a  young  man's  love,  which 
should  outstrip  all  fables.  At  some  moments  I  was  ready  to 
barter  my  whole  life  for  one  single  night.  Well,  as  I  could 
never  find  a  listener  for  my  impassioned  proposals,  eyes  to 
rest  my  own  \ipon,  a  heart  made  for  my  heart,  I  lived  on  in 
all  the  sufferings  of  impotent  force  that  consumes  itself ;  lack- 
ing either  opportunity  or  courage  or  experience.  I  despaired, 
maybe,  of  making  myself  understood,  or  I  feared  to  be  under- 
stood^ but  too  well ;  and  j^et  the  storm  within  me  was  ready  to 
burst  at  every  chance  courteous  look.  In  spite  of  my  readi- 
ness to  take  the  semblance  of  interest  in  look  or  word  for  a 
tenderer  solicitude,  I  dared  neither  to  speak  nor  to  be  silent 
seasonably.  My  words  grew  insignificant,  and  my  silence 
stupid,  by  sheer  stress  of  emotion.  I  was  too  ingenuous,  no 
doubt,  for  that  artificial  life,  led  by  candle-light,  where  every 
thought  is  expressed  in  conventional  phrases,  or  by  words 
that  fashion  dictates;  and  not  only  so,  I  had  not  learned 
how  to  employ  speech  that  says  nothing,  and  silence  that  says 
a  great  deal.  In  short,  I  concealed  the  fires  that  consumed 
me,  and  with  such  a  soul  as  women  wish  to  find,  with  all  the 
elevation  of  soul  that  they  long  for,  and  a  mettle  that  fools 
plume  themselves  upon,  all  women  have  been  cruelly 
treacherous  to  me. 

"So  in  my  simplicity  I  admired  the  heroes  of  this  set  when 


THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

they  bragged  about  their  conquests,  and  never  suspected  them 
of  lying.  No  doubt  it  was  a  mistake  to  wish  for  a  love  that 
springs  for  a  word^s  sake ;  to  expect  to  find  in  the  heart  of  a 
vain,  frivolous  woman,  greedy  for  luxury  and  intoxicated 
with  vanity,  the  great  sea  of  passion  that  surged 
tempestuously  in  my  own  breast.  Oh !  to  feel  that  you  were 
born  to  love,  to  make  some  woman's  happiness,  and  yet  to 
find  not  one,  not  even  a  noble  and  courageous  Marceline,  not 
so  much  as  an  old  Marquise !  Oh  !  to  carry  a  treasure  in  your 
wallet,  and  not  find  even  some  child,  or  inquisitive  young  girl, 
to  admire  it !     In  my  despair  I  often  wished  to  kill  myself." 

"Finely  tragical  to-night !"  cried  fimile. 

"Let  me  pass  sentence  on  my  life,"  Eaphael  answered.  "If 
your  friendship  is  not  strong  enough  to  bear  with  my  elegy, 
if  you  cannot  put  up  with  half  an  hour's  tedium  for  my  sake, 
go  to  sleep !  But,  then,  never  ask  again  for  the  reason  of 
the  suicide  that  hangs  over  me,  that  comes  nearer  and  calls 
to  me,  that  I  bow  myself  before.  If  you  are  to  judge  a  man, 
you  must  know  his  secret  thoughts,  sorrows,  and  feelings ;  to 
know  merely  the  outward  events  of  a  man's  life  would  only 
serve  to  make  a  chronological  table — a  fool's  notion  of 
history." 

fimile  was  so  much  struck  with  the  bitter  tones  in  which 
these  words  were  spoken,  that  he  began  to  pay  close  attention 
to  Eaphael,  whom  he  watched  with  a  bewildered  expression. 

"Now,"  continued  the  speaker,  "all  these  things  that  befell 
me  appear  in  a  new  light.  The  sequence  of  events  that  I 
once  thought  so  unfortunate  created  the  splendid  powers  of 
which,  later,  I  became  so  proud.  If  I  may  believe  you,  I 
possess  the  power  of  readily  expressing  my  thoughts,  and  I 
could  take  a  forward  place  in  the  great  field  of  knowledge; 
and  is  not  this  the  result  of  scientific  curiosity,  of  excessive 
application,  and  a  love  of  reading  which  possessed  me  from, 
the  age  of  seven  till  my  entry  on  life?  The  very  neglect  in 
which  I  was  left,  and  the  consequent  habits  of  self-repression 
and  self-concentration ;  did  not  these  things  teach  me  how  to 
consider  and  reflect?       Nothing  in  mc  was  squandered  in 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  81 

obedience  to  the  exactions  of  the  world,  which  humble  the 
proudest  soul  and  reduce  it  to  a  mere  husk;  and  was  it  not 
this  very  fact  that  refined  the  emotional  part  of  my  nature 
till  it  became  the  perfected  instrument  of  a  loftier  purpose 
than  passionate  desires?  I  remember  watching  the  women 
who  mistook  me  with  all  the  insight  of  contemned  love. 

"I  can  see  now  that  my  natural  sincerity  must  have  been 
displeasing  to  them;  women,  perhaps,  even  require  a  little 
hypocrisy.  And  I,  who  in  the  same  hour's  space  am  al- 
ternately a  man  and  a  child,  frivolous  and  thoughtful,  free 
from  bias  and  brimful  of  superstition,  and  oftentimes  myself 
as  much  a  woman  as  any  of  them ;  how  should  they  do  other- 
wise than  take  my  simplicity  for  cynicism,  my  innocent 
candor  for  impudence?  They  found  my  knowledge  tire- 
some ;  my  feminine  languor,  weakness.  I  was  held  to  be  list- 
less and  incapable  of  love  or  of  steady  purpose;  a  too  active 
imagination,  that  curse  of  poets,  was  no  doubt  the  cause.  My 
silence  was  idiotic;  and  as  I  daresay  I  alarmed  them  by  my 
efforts  to  please,  women  one  and  all  have  condemned  me. 
With  tears  and  mortification,  I  bowed  before  the  decision  of 
the  world;  but  my  distress  was  not  barren.  I  determined  to 
revenge  myself  on  society;  I  would  dominate  the  feminine 
intellect,  and  so  have  the  feminine  soul  at  my  mercy;  all 
eyes  should  be  fixed  upon  me,  when  the  servant  at  the  door 
announced  my  name.  I  had  determined  from  my  childhood 
that  I  would  be  a  great  man ;  I  said  with  Andre  Chenier,  as 
I  struck  my  forehead,  'There  is  something  underneath  that !' 
I  felt,  I  believed,  the  thought  within  me  that  I  must  ex- 
press, the  system  I  must  establish,  the  knowledge  I  must  in- 
terpret. 

"Let  me  pour  out  my  follies,  dear  Emile;  to-day  I  am 
barely  twenty-six  years  old,  certain  of  dying  unrecognized, 
and  I  have  never  been  the  lover  of  the  woman  I  dreamed  of 
possessing.  Have  we  not  all  of  us,  more  or  less,  believed  in 
the  reality  of  a  thing  because  we  wished  it?  I  would  never 
have  a  young  man  for  my  friend  who  did  not  place  himself  in 
dreams  upon  a  pedestal,  weave  crowns  for  his  head,  and  have 
6 


82  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

complaisant  mistresses.  I  myself  would  often  be  a  general, 
nay,  emperor;  I  have  been  a  Byron,  and  then  a  nobody.  Af- 
ter this  sport  on  these  pinnacles  of  human  achievement,  I 
became  aware  that  all  the  difficulties  and  steeps  of  life  were 
yet  to  face.  My  exuberant  self-esteem  came  to  my  aid ;  I  had 
that  intense  belief  in  my  destiny,  which  perhaps  amounts 
to  genius  in  those  who  will  not  permit  themselves  to  be  dis- 
tracted by  contact  with  the  world,  as  sheep  that  leave  their 
wool  on  the  briars  of  every  thicket  they  pass  by.  I  meant 
to  cover  myself  with  glory,  and  to  work  in  silence  for  the' 
mistress  I  hoped  to  have  one  day.  Women  for  me  were  re- 
sumed into  a  single  type,  and  this  woman  I  looked  to  meet  in 
the  first  that  met  my  eyes ;  but  in  each  and  all  I  saw  a  queen, 
and  as  queens  must  make  the  first  advances  to  their  lovers, 
they  must  draw  near  to  me — to  me,  so  sickly,  shy,  and  poor. 
For  her,  who  should  take  pity  on  me,  my  heart  held  in  store 
such  gratitude  over  and  beyond  love,  that  I  had  worshiped 
her  her  whole  life  long.  Later,  my  observations  have  taught 
me  bitter  truths. 

"In  this  way,  dear  fimile,  I  ran  the  risk  of  remaining 
eompanionless  for  good.  The  incomprehensible  bent  of 
women's  minds  appears  to  lead  them  to  see  nothing  but  the 
weak  points  in  a  clever  man,  and  the  strong  points  of  a  fool. 
They  feel  the  liveliest  sympathy  with  the  fool's  good  qualities, 
which  perpetually  flatter  their  own  defects;  while  they  find 
the  man  of  talent  hardly  agreeable  enough  to  compensate  for 
his  shortcomings.  All  capacity  is  a  sort  of  intermittent 
fever,  and  no  woman  is  anxious  to  share  in  its  discomforts 
only;  they  look  to  find  in  their  lovers  the  wherewithal  to 
gratify  their  own  vanity.  It  is  themselves  that  they  love  in 
us !  But  the  artist,  poor  and  proud,  along  with  his  endow- 
ment of  creative  power,  is  furnished  with  an  aggressive 
egotism !  Everything  about  him  is  involved  in  I  know  not 
what  whirlpool  of  his  ideas,  and  even  his  mistress  must  gyrate 
along  with  them.  How  is  a  woman,  spoilt  with  praise,  to 
believe  in  the  love  of  a  man  like  that?  "Will  she  go  to  seek' 
him  out  ?     That  sort  of  lover  has  not  the  leisure  to  sit  beside 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  83 

a  sofa  and  give  himself  up  to  the  sentimental  simperings  that 
women  are  so  fond  of,  and  on  which  the  false  and  unfeeling 
pride  themselves.  He  cannot  spare  the  time  from  his  work, 
and  how  can  he  afford  to  humble  himself  and  go  a-masquerad- 
ing !  I  was  ready  to  give  my  life  once  and  for  all,  but  I 
could  not  degrade  it  in  detail.  Besides,  there  is  something 
indescribably  paltry  in  a  stockbroker's  tactics,  who  runs  on 
errands  for  some  insipid  affected  woman ;  all  this  disgusts  an 
artist.  Love  in  the  abstract  is  not  enough  for  a  great  man  in 
poverty;  he  has  need  of  its  utmost  devotion.  The  frivolous 
creatures  who  spend  their  lives  in  trying  on  cashmeres,  or 
make  themselves  into  clothes-pegs  to  hang  the  fashions  from, 
exact  the  devotion  which  is  not  theirs  to  give ;  for  them,  love 
means  the  pleasure  of  ruling  and  not  of  obeying.  She  who  is 
really  a  wife,  one  in  heart,  flesh,  and  bone,  must  follow 
wherever  he  leads,  in  whom  her  life,  her  strength,  her  pride, 
and  haj)piness  are  centered.  Ambitious  men  need  those 
Oriental  women  whose  whole  thought  is  given  to  the  study 
of  their  requirements;  for  unhappiness  means  for  them  the 
incompatibility  of  their  means  with  their  desires.  But  I, 
who  took  myself  for  a  man  of  genius,  must  needs  fed  at- 
tracted by  these  very  she-coxcombs.  So,  as  I  cherished  ideas 
so  different  from  those  generally  received;  as  I  wished  to 
scale  the  heavens  without  a  ladder,  was  possessed  of  wealth 
that  could  not  circulate,  and  of  knowledge  so  wide  and  so  im- 
perfectly arranged  and  digested  that  it  overtaxed  my 
memory;  as  I  had  neither  relations  nor  friends  in  the  midst 
of  this  lonely  and  ghastly  desert,  a  desert  of  paving  stones, 
full  of  animation,  life,  and  thought,  wherein  every  one  is 
worse  than  inimical,  indifferent  to  wit ;  I  made  a  very  natural, 
if  foolish  resolve,  which  required  such  unknoAvn  impossi- 
bilities, that  my  spirits  rose.  It  was  as  if  I  had  laid  a  wager 
with  myself,  for  I  was  at  once  the  player  and  the 
cards. 

"This  was  my  plan.  The  eleven  hundred  francs  must  keep 
life  in  me  for  three  years — the  time  I  allowed  myself  in  which 
to  bring  to  light  a  work  which  should  draw  attention  to  me. 


84  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

and  make  me  either  a  name  or  a  fortune.  I  exulted  at  the 
thought  of  living  on  bread  and  milk,  like  a  hermit  in  the 
Thebaid,  while  I  plunged  into  the  world  of  books  and  ideas, 
and  so  reached  a  lofty  sphere  beyond  the  tumult  of  Paris, 
a  sphere  of  silent  labor  where  I  would  entomb  myself  like  a 
chrysalis  to  await  a  brilliant  and  splendid  new  birth.  I  im- 
periled my  life  in  order  to  live.  By  reducing  my  require- 
ments to  real  needs  and  the  barest  necessaries,  I  found  that 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  francs  sufficed  for  a  year  of^ 
penury  •  and,  in  fact,  I  managed  to  exist  on  that  slender  sum, 
so  long  as  1  submitted  to  my  own  claustral  discipline." 

"Impossible !"  cried  fimile. 

"I  lived  for  nearly  three  years  in  that  way,"  Eaphael 
answered,  with  a  kind  of  pride.  "Let  us  reckon  it  out. 
Three  sous  for  bread,  two  for  milk,  and  three  for  cold  meat, 
kept  me  from  dying  of  hunger,  and  my  mind  in  a  state  of 
peculiar  lucidity.  I  have  observed,  as  you  know,  the  wonder- 
ful effects  produced  by  diet  upon  the  imagination.  My 
lodgings  cost  me  three  soiis  daily;  I  burnt  three  sous  more 
in  oil  at  night;  I  did  my  own  housework,  and  wore  flannel 
shirts  so  as  to  reduce  the  laundress'  bill  to  two  sous  per  day. 
The  money  I  spent  yearly  in  coal,  if  divided  up,  never  cost 
more  than  two  sous  for  each  day.  I  had  three  years'  supply 
of  clothing,  and  I  only  dressed  when  going  out  to  some  library 
or  public  lecture.  These  expenses,  all  told,  only  amounted  to 
eighteen  sous,  so  two  were  left  over  for  emergencies.  I  can- 
not recollect,  during  that  long  period  of  toil,  either  crossing 
the  Pont  des  Arts,  or  paying  for  water ;  I  went  out  to  fetch  it 
every  morning  from  the  fountain  in  the  Place  Saint  Michel, 
at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Gres.  Oh,  I  wore  my  poverty 
proudly.  A  man  urged  on  towards  a  fair  future  walks 
through  life  like  an  innocent  person  to  his  death ;  he  feels  no 
shame  about  it. 

"I  would  not  think  of  illness.  Like  Aquilina,  I  faced  the 
hospital  without  terror.  I  had  not  a  moment's  doubt  of  my 
health,  and  besides,  the  poor  can  only  take  to  their  beds  to 
die.     I  cut  my  own  hair  till  the  day  when  an  angel  of  love  and 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  85 

kindness  .  .  .  But  I  do  not  want  to  anticipate  the  state 
of  things  that  I  shall  reach  later.  You  must  simply  know 
that  I  lived  with  one  grand  thought  for  a  mistress,  a  dream, 
an  illusion  which  deceives  us  all  more  or  less  at  first.  To-day 
I  laugh  at  myself,  at  that  self,  holy  perhaps  and  heroic,  which 
is  now  no  more.  I  have  since  had  a  closer  view  of  society  and 
the  world,  of  our  manners  and  customs,  and  seen  the  dangers 
of  my  innocent  credulity  and  the  superfluous  nature  of  my 
fervent  toil.  Stores  of  that  sort  are  quite  useless  to  aspirants 
for  fame.  Light  should  be  the  baggage  of  seekers  after 
fortune ! 

"Ambitious  men  spend  their  youth  in  rendering  themselves 
worthy  of  patronage;  it  is  their  great  mistake.  While  the 
foolish  creatures  are  laying  in  stores  of  knowledge  and  energy, 
so  that  they  shall  not  sink  under  the  weight  of  responsible 
posts  that  recede  from  them,  schemers  come  and  go  who  are 
wealthy  in  words  and  destitute  in  ideas,  astonish  the  ignorant, 
and  creep  into  the  confidence  of  those  who  have  a  little 
knowledge.  While  the  first  kind  study,  the  second  march 
ahead;  the  one  sort  is  modest,  and  the  other  impudent j  the 
man  of  genius  is  silent  about  his  own  merits,  but  these 
schemers  make  a  flourish  of  theirs,  and  they  are  bound  to 
get  on.  It  is  so  strongly  to  the  interest  of  men  in  ofhce  to 
believe  in  ready-made  capacity,  and  in  brazen-faced  merit, 
that  it  is  downright  childish  of  the  learned  to  expect  material 
rewards.  I  do  not  seek  to  paraphrase  the  commonplace 
moral,  the  song  of  songs  that  obscure  genius  is  for  ever  sing- 
ing; I  want  to  come,,  in  a  logical  manner,  by  the  reason  of 
the  frequent  successes  of  mediocrity.  Alas !  study  shows  us 
such  a  mother's  kindness  that  it  would  be  a  sin  perhaps  to 
ask  any  other  reward  of  her  than  the  pure  and  delightful 
pleasures  with  which  she  sustains  her  children. 

"Often  I  remember  soaking  my  break  in  milk,  as  I  sat  by 
the  window  to  take  the  fresh  air;  while  my  eyes  wandered 
over  a  view  of  roofs — brown,  gray,  or  red,  slated  or  tiled,  and 
covered  with  yellow  or  green  mosses.  At  first  the  prospect 
may  have  seemed  monotonous,  but  I  very  soon  found  peculiar 


9S  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

beauties  in  it.  Sometimes  at  night,  streams  of  light  through 
half-closed  shutters  would  light  up  and  color  the  dark  abysses 
of  this  strange  landscape.  Sometimes  the  feeble  lights  of 
the  street  lamps  sent  up  yellow  gleams  through  the  fog,  and 
in  each  street  dimly  outlined  the  undulations  of  a  crowd  of 
roofs,  like  billows  in  a  motionless  sea.  Very  occasionally, 
too,  a  face  appeared  in  this  gloomy  waste;  above  the  flowers 
in  some  skyey  garden  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  old  woman's 
crooked  angular  profile  as  she  watered  her  nasturtiums;  or, 
in  a  crazy  attic  window,  a  young  girl,  fancying  herself  quite 
alone  as  she  dressed  herself — a  view  of  nothing  more  than  a 
fair  forehead  and  long  tresses  held  above  her  by  a  pretty  white 
arm. 

"I  liked  to  see  the  short-lived  plant-life  in  the  gutters — 
poor  weeds  that  a  storm  soon  washed  away.  I  studied  the 
mosses,  with  their  colors  revived  by  showers,  or  transformed 
by  the  sun  into  a  brown  velvet  that  fitfully  caught  the  light. 
Such  things  as  these  formed  my  recreations — the  passing 
poetic  moods  of  daylight,  the  melancholy  mists,  sudden 
gleams  of  sunlight,  the  silence  and  the  magic  of  night,  the 
mysteries  of  dawn,  the  smoke  wreaths  from  each  chimney; 
every  chance  event,  in  fact,  in  my  curious  world  became 
familiar  to  me.  I  came  to  love  this  prison  of  my  own 
choosing.  This  level  Parisian  prairie  of  roofs,  beneath  which 
lay  populous  abysses,  suited  my  humor,  and  harmonized  with 
my  thoughts. 

"Sudden  descents  into  the  world  from  the  divine  height  of 
scientific  meditation  are  very  exhausting ;  and,  besides,  I  had 
apprehended  perfectly  the  bare  life  of  the  cloister.  When 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  carry  out  this  new  plan  of  life,  I 
looked  for  quarters  in  the  most  out-of-the-way  parts  of  Paris. 
One  evening,  as  I  returned  home  to  the  Eue  des  Cordiers 
from  the  Place  de  I'Estrapade,  I  saw  a  girl  of  fourteen  play- 
ing with  a  battledore  at  the  corner  of  the  Eue  de  Cluny ;  her 
winsome  ways  and  laughter  amused  the  neighbors. 
September  was  not  yet  over;  it  was  warm  and  fine,  so  that 
women  sat  chatting  before  their  doors  as  if  it  were  a  fete-day 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  8'i 

in  some  country  town.  At  first  I  watched  the  charming  ex- 
pression of  the  girl's  face  and  her  graceful  attitudes,  her  pose 
fit  for  a  painter.  It  was  a  pretty  sight.  I  looked  about  me, 
seeking  to  understand  this  blithe  simplicity  in  the  midst  of 
Paris,  and  saw  that  the  street  was  a  blind  alley  and  but  little 
frequented.  I  remembered  that  Jean  Jacques  had  once  lived 
here,  and  looked  up  the  Hotel  Saint-Quentin.  Its  dilapi- 
dated condition  awakened  hopes  of  a  cheap  lodging,  and  I 
determined  to  enter. 

"I  found  myself  in  a  room  with  a  low  ceiling ;  the  candles, 
in  classic-looking  copper  candle-sticks,  were  set  in  a  row 
under  each  key.  The  predominating  cleanliness  of  the  room 
made  a  striking  contrast  to  the  iisual  state  of  such  places. 
This  one  was  as  neat  as  a  bit  of  genre;  there  was  a  charming 
trimness  about  the  blue  coverlet,  the  cooking  pots  and  furni- 
ture. The  mistress  of  the  house  rose  and  came  to  me.  She 
seemed  to  be  about  forty  years  of  age ;  sorrows  had  left  their 
traces  on  her  features,  and  weeping  had  dimmed  her  eyes. 
I  deferentially  mentioned  the  amount  I  could  pay ;  it  seemed 
to  cause  her  no  surprise ;  she  sought  out  a  key  from  the  row, 
went  up  to  the  attics  with  me,  and  showed  me  a  room  that 
looked  out  on  the  neighboring  roofs  and  courts;  long  poles 
with  linen  drying  on  them  hung  out  of  the  window. 

"Nothing  could  be  uglier  than  this  garret,  awaiting  its 
scholar,  with  its  dingy  yellow  walls  and  odor  of  poverty. 
The  roofing  fell  in  a  steep  slope,  and  the  sky  was  visible 
through  chinks  in  the  tiles.  There  was  room  for  a  bed,  a 
table,  and  a  few  chairs,  and  beneath  the  highest  point  of  the 
roof  my  piano  could  stand.  Not  being  rich  enough  to 
furnish  this  cage  (that  might  have  been  one  of  the  Piomhi 
of  Venice),  the  poor  woman  had  never  been  able  to  let  it; 
and  as  I  had  saved  from  the  recent  sale  the  furniture  that 
was  in  a  fashion  peculiarly  mine,  I  very  soon  came  to  terms 
with  my  landlady,  and  moved  in  on  the  following  day. 

"For  three  years  I  lived  in  this  airy  sepulchre,  and  worked 
tmflaggingly  day  and  night;  and  so  great  was  the  pleasure 
that  study  seemed  to  me  the  fairest  theme  and  the  happiest 


88  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

solution  of  life.  The  tranquillity  and  peace  that  a  scholar 
needs  is  something  as  sweet  and  exhilarating  as  love.  Un- 
speakable joys  are  showered  on  us  by  the  exertion  of  our 
mental  faculties;  the  quest  of  ideas,  and  the  tranquil  con- 
templation of  knowledge;  delights  indescribable,  because 
purely  intellectual  and  impalpable  to  our  senses.  So  we  are 
obliged  to  use  material  terms  to  express  the  mysteries  of  the 
soul.  The  pleasure  of  striking  out  in  some  lonely  lake  of 
clear  water,  with  forests,  rocks,  and  flowers  around,  and  the 
soft  stirring  of  the  warm  breeze, — all  this  would  give,  to  those 
who  knew  them  not,  a  very  faint  idea  of  the  exultation  with 
which  my  soul  bathed  itself  in  the  beams  of  an  unknown  light, 
hearkened  to  the  awful  and  uncertain  voice  of  inspiration,  as 
vision  upon  vision  poured  from  some  unknown  source  through 
my  throbbing  brain. 

"No  earthly  pleasure  can  compare  with  the  divine  delight 
of  watching  the  dawn  of  an  idea  in  the  space  of  abstractions 
as  it  rises  like  the  morning  sun;  an  idea  that,  better  still,  at- 
tains gradually  like  a  child  to  puberty  and  man's  estate.  Study 
lends  a  kind  of  enchantment  to  all  our  surroundings.  The 
Virretched  desk  covered  with  brown  leather  at  which  I  wrote, 
my  piano,  bed,  and  armchair,  the  odd  wall-paper  and  furniture 
seemed  to  have  for  me  a  kind  of  life  in  them,  and  to  be 
humble  friends  of  mine  and  mute  partakers  of  my  destiny. 
How  often  have  I  confided  my  soul  to  them  in  a  glance !  A 
warped  bit  of  beading  often  met  my  eyes,  and  suggested  new 
developments, — a  striking  proof  of  my  system,  or  a  felicitous 
word  by  which  to  render  my  all  but  inexpressible  thought. 
By  sheer  contemplation  of  the  things  about  me  I  discerned 
an  expression  and  a  character  in  each.  If  the  setting  sun 
happened  to  steal  in  through  my  narrow  window,  they  would 
take  new  colors,  fade  or  shine,  grow  dull  or  gay,  and  always 
amaze  me  with  some  new  effect.  These  trifling  incidents  of  a 
solitary  life,  which  escape  those  preoccupied  with  outward 
affairs,  make  the  solace  of  prisoners.  And  what  was  I  but 
the  captive  of  an  idea,  imprisoned  in  my  system,  but  sus- 
tained also  by  the  prospect  of  a  brilliant  future?    At  each 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  89 

obstacle  that  1  overcame,  I  seemed  to  kiss  the  soft  hands  of  a 
woman  with  a  fair  face,  a  wealthy,  well-dressed  woman,  who 
should  some  day  say  softly,  while  she  caressed  my  iiair : 

"  Toor  angel,  how  thou  hast  suffered !' 

"I  had  undertaken  two  great  works — one  a  comedy  that 
in  a  very  short  time  must  bring  me  wealth  and  fame,  and  an 
entry  into  those  circles  whither  I  wished  to  return,  to  exercise 
the  royal  privileges  of  a  man  of  genius.  You  all  saw  nothing 
in  that  masterpiece  but  the  blunder  of  a  young  man  fresh 
from  college,  a  babyish  fiasco.  Your  jokes  clipped  the  wings  of 
a  throng  of  illusions,  which  have  never  stirred  since  within 
me.  You,  dear  fimile,  alone  brought  soothing  to  the  deep 
wounds  that  others  had  made  in  my  heart.  You  alone  will 
admire  my  'Theory  of  the  Will.'  I  devoted  most  of  my  time 
to  that  long  work,  for  which  I  studied  Oriental  languages, 
physiology  and  anatomy.  If  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  my 
labors  will  complete  the  task  begun  by  Mesmer,  Lavater,  Gall, 
and  Bichat,  and  open  up  new  paths  in  science. 

"There  ends  that  fair  life  of  mine,  the  daily  sacrifice,  the 
unrecognized  silkworm's  toil,  that  is,  perhaps,  its  own  sole 
recompense.  Since  attaining  years  of  discretion,  until  the 
day  when  I  finished  my  'Theory,'  I  observed,  learned,  wrote, 
and  read  unintermittingly ;  my  life  was  one  long  imposition, 
as  schoolboys  say.  Though  by  nature  effeminately  attached 
to  Oriental  indolence,  sensual  in  tastes,  and  a  wooer  of 
dreams,  I  worked  incessantly,  and  refused  to  taste  any  of  the 
enjoyments  of  Parisian  life.  Though  a  glutton,  I  became 
abstemious;  and  loving  exercise  and  sea  voyages  as  I  did, 
and  haunted  by  the  wish  to  visit  many  countries,  still  child 
enough  to  play  at  ducks  and  drakes  with  pebbles  over  a  pond, 
I  led  a  sedentary  life  with  a  pen  in  my  fingers.  I  liked  talk- 
ing, but  I  went  to  sit  and  mutely  listen  to  professors  who 
gave  public  lectures  at  the  Bibliotheque  or  the  Museum.  I 
slept  upon  my  solitary  pallet  like  a  Benedictine  brother, 
though  woman  was  my  one  chimera,  a  chimera  that  fled  from 
me  as  I  wooed  it !  In  short,  my  life  has  been  a  cruel  contra- 
diction, a  perpetual  cheat.    After  that,  judge  a  man! 


90  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"Sometimes  my  natural  propensities  broke  out  like  a  fire 
long  smothered.  I  was  debarred  from  the  women  whose  so- 
ciety I  desired,  stripped  of  everything  and  lodged  in  an 
artist's  garret,  and  by  a  sort  of  mirage  or  calenture  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  captivating  mistresses.  I  drove  through  the 
streets  of  Paris,  lolling  on  the  soft  cushions  of  a  fine  equipage. 
I  plunged  into  dissipation,  into  corroding  vice,  I  desired  and 
'possessed  everything,  for  fasting  had  made  me  light-headed 
like  the  tempted  Saint  Anthony.  Slumber,  happily,  would  put 
an  end  at  last  to  these  devastating  trances ;  and  on  the  morrow 
science  would  beckon  me,  smiling,  and  I  was  faithful  to  her. 
I  imagine  that  women  reputed  virtuous,  must  often  fall  a 
prey  to  these  insane  tempests  of  desire  and  passion,  which 
rise  in  us  in  spite  of  ourselves.  Such  dreams  have  a  charm 
of  their  own ;  they  are  something  akin  to  evening  gossip  round 
the  winter  fire,  when  one  sets  out  for  some  voyage  in  China. 
But  what  becomes  of  virtue  during  these  delicious  excursions, 
when  fancy  overleaps  all  difficulties? 

"During  the  first  ten  months  of  seclusion  I  led  the  life  of 
poverty  and  solitude  that  I  have  described  to  you;  I  used  to 
steal  out  unobserved  every  morning  to  buy  my  own  provisions 
for  the  day;  I  tidied  my  room;  I  was  at  once  master  and 
servant,  and  played  the  Diogenes  with  incredible  spirit.  But 
afterwards,  while  my  hostess  and  her  daughter  watched  my 
ways  and  behavior,  scrutinized  my  appearance  and  divined  my 
poverty,  there  could  not  but  be  some  bonds  between  us;  per- 
haps because  they  were  themselves  so  very  poor.  Pauline, 
the  charming  child,  whose  latent  and  unconscious  grace  had, 
in  a  manner,  brought  me  there,  did  me  many  services  that  I 
could  not  well  refuse.  All  Avomen  fallen  on  evil  days  are  sis- 
ters; they  speak  a  common  language;  they  have  the  same 
generosity — the  generosity  that  possesses  nothing,  and  so  is 
lavish  of  its  affection,  of  its  time,  and  of  its  very  self. 

"Imperceptibly  Pauline  took  me  under  her  protection,  and 
would  do  things  for  me.  ISTo  kind  of  objection  was  made  by 
her  mother,  whom  I  even  surprised  mending  my  linen;  she 
blushed  for  the  charitable  occupation.  In  spite  of  myself, 
they  took  charge  of  me,  and  I  accepted  their  services. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  91 

*1n  order  to  understand  the  peculiar  condition  of  my  mind, 
my  preoccupation  with  work  must  be  remembered,  the 
tyranny  of  ideas,  and  the  instinctive  repugnance  that  a  man 
who  leads  an  intellectual  life  must  ever  feel  for  the  material 
details  of  existence.  Could  I  well  repulse  the  delicate  atten- 
tions of  Pauline,  who  would  noiselessly  bring  me  my  frugal 
repast,  when  she  noticed  that  I  had  taken  nothing  for  seven 
or  eight  hours  ?  She  had  the  tact  of  a  woman  and  the  inven- 
tiveness of  a  child;  she  would  smile  as  she  made  sign  to  m«j 
that  I  must  not  see  her.  Ariel  glided  under  my  roof  in  the 
form  of  a  sylph  who  foresaw  every  want  of  mine. 

"One  evening  Pauline  told  me  her  story  with  touching 
simplicity.  Her  father  had  been  a  major  in  the  horse  grena- 
diers of  the  Imperial  guard.  He  had  been  taken  prisoner  by 
the  Cossacks,  at  the  passage  of  the  Beresina;  and  when  Na- 
poleon later  on  proposed  an  exchange,  the  Russian  authorities 
made  search  for  him  in  Siberia  in  vain ;  he  had  escaped  with 
a  view  of  reaching  India,  and  since  then  Mme.  Gaudin,  my 
landlady,  could  hear  no  news  of  her  husband.  Then  came 
the  disasters  of  1814  and  1815;  and,  left  alone  and  without 
resource,  she  had  decided  to  let  furnished  lodgipgs  in  order 
to  keep  herself  and  her  daughter. 

"She  always  hoped  to  see  her  husband  again.  Her  greatest 
trouble  was  about  her  daughter's  education;  the  Princess 
Borghese  was  her  Pauline's  godmother;  and  Pauline  must 
not  be  unworthy  of  the  fair  future  promised  by  her  imperial 
protectress.  When  Mme.  Gaudin  confided  to  me  this  heavy 
trouble  that  preyed  upon  her,  she  said,  with  sharp  pain  in  her 
voice,  '1  would  give  up  the  property  and  the  scrap  of  paper 
that  makes  Gaudin  a  baron  of  the  empire,  and  all  our  rights 
to  the  endowment  of  Wistchnau,  if  only  Pauline  could  be 
brought  up  at  Saint-Denis!'  Her  words  struck  me;  now  I; 
could  show  my  gratitude  for  the  kindnesses  expended  on  me 
by  the  two  women;  all  at  once  the  idea  of  offering  to  finish 
Pauline's  education  occurred  to  me ;  and  the  offer  was  made 
and  accepted  in  the  most  perfect  simplicity.  In  this  way  I 
came  to  have  some  hours  of  recreation.    Pauline  had  natural 


92  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

aptitude;  she  learned  so  quickly,  that  she  soon  surpassed  me 
at  the  piano.  As  she  became  accustomed  to  think  aloud  in 
my  presence,  she  unfolded  all  the  sweet  refinements  of  a  heart 
that  was  opening  itself  out  to  life,  as  some  fiower-cup  opens 
slowly  to  the  sun.  She  listened  to  me,  pleased  and  thoughtful, 
letting  her  dark  velvet  eyes  rest  upon  me  with  a  half  smile  in 
them;  she  repeated  her  lessons  in  soft  and  gentle  tones,  and 
showed  childish  glee  when  I  was  satisfied  with  her.  Her 
mother  grew  more  and  more  anxious  every  day  to  shield  the 
young  girl  from  every  danger  (for  all  the  beauty  promised  in 
early  life  was  developing  in  the  crescent  moon),  and  was  glad 
to  see  her  spend  whole  days  indoors  in  study.  My  piano  was 
the  only  one  she  could  use,  and  while  I  was  out  she  practised 
on  it.  When  I  came  home,  Pauline  would  be  in  my  room,  in 
her  shabby  dress,  but  her  slightest  movement  revealed  her 
slender  figure  in  its  attractive  grace,  in  spite  of  the  coarse 
materials  that  she  wore.  As  with  the  heroine  of  the  fable  of 
'Peau-d'Ane/  a  dainty  foot  peeped  out  of  the  clumsy  shoes. 
But  all  her  wealth  of  girlish  beauty  was  as  lost  upon  me.  I 
had  laid  commands  upon  myself  to  see  a  sister  only  in 
Pauline.  I  dreaded  lest  I  should  betray  her  mother's  faith  in 
me.  I  admired  the  lovely  girl  as  if  she  had  been  a  picture,  or 
as  the  portrait  of  a  dead  mistress ;  she  was  at  once  my  child 
and  my  statue.  For  me,  another  Pygmalion,  the  maiden  with 
the  hues  of  life  and  the  living  voice  was  to  become  a  form  of 
inanimate  marble.  I  was  very  strict  with  her,  but  the  more 
I  made  her  feel  my  pedagogue's  severity,  the  more  gentle  and 
submissive  she  grew. 

"If  a  generous  feeling  strengthened  me  in  my  reserve  and 
self-restraint,  prudent  considerations  were  not  lacking  beside. 
Integrity  of  purpose  cannot,  I  thinlc,  fail  to  accompany  in- 
tegrity in  money  matters.  To  my  mind,  to  become  insolvent 
or  to  betray  a  woman  is  the  same  sort  of  thing.  If  you  love 
a  young  girl,  or  allow  yourself  to  be  beloved  by  her,  a  con- 
tract is  implied,  and  its  conditions  should  be  thoroughly  un- 
derstood. We  are  free  to  break  with  the  woman  who  sells 
herselfj  but  not  with  the  young  girl  who  has  given  herself  tp 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  93 

ns  and  does  not  know  the  extent  of  her  sacrifice.  I  must  have 
married  Pauline,  and  that  would  have  been  madness.  Would 
it  not  have  given  over  that  sweet  girlish  heart  io  terrible  mis- 
fortunes? My  poverty  made  its  selftsh  voice  heard,  and  set 
an  iron  barrier  between  that  gentle  nature  and  mine.  Be- 
sides, I  am  ashamed  to  say,  that  I  cannot  imagine  love  in  the 
midst  of  povertj''.  Perhaps  this  is  a  vitiation  due  to  that 
malady  of  mankind  called  civilization;  but  a  woman  in 
squalid  poverty  would  exert  no  fascination  over  me,  were  she 
attractive  as  Homer's  Galatea,  the  fair  Helen. 

"Ah,  vive  V amour!  But  let  it  be  in  silk  and  cashmere,  sur- 
rounded with  the  luxury  which  so  marvelously  embellishes 
it;  for  is  it  not  perhaps  itself  a  luxury?  I  enjoy  making 
havoc  with  an  elaborate  erection  of  scented  hair;  I  like  to 
crush  flowers,  to  disarrange  and  crease  a  smart  toilette  at 
will.  A  bizarre  attraction  lies  for  me  in  burning  eyes  that 
blaze  through  a  lace  veil,  like  flame  through  cannon  smoke. 
My  way  of  love  would  be  to  mount  by  a  silken  ladder,  in  the 
silence  of  a  winter  night.  And  what  bliss  to  reach,  all  pow- 
dered with  snow,  a  perfumed  room,  with  hangings  of  painted 
silk,  to  find  a  woman  there,  who  likewise  shakes  away  the  snow 
from  her;  for  what  other  name  can  be  found  for  the  white 
muslin  wrappings  that  vaguely  define  her,  like  some  angel 
form  issuing  from  a  cloud!  And  then  I  wish  for  furtive 
joys,  for  the  security  of  audacity.  1  want  to  see  once  more 
that  woman  of  mystery,  but  let  it  be  in  the  throng,  dazzling, 
unapproachable,  adored  on  all  sides,  dressed  in  laces  and 
ablaze  with  diamonds,  laying  her  commands  upon  every  one; 
so  exalted  above  us,  that  she  inspires  awe,  and  none  dares  to 
pay  his  homage  to  her. 

"She  gives  me  a  stolen  glance,  amid  her  court,  a  look  that 
exposes  the  unreality  of  all  tliis;  that  resigns  for  me  the 
world  and  all  men  in  it !  Truly  I  have  scorned  myself  for  a 
passion  for  a  few  yards  of  lace,  velvet,  and  fine  lawn,  and  the 
hairdresser's  feats  of  skill;  a  love  of  wax-lights,  a  carriage 
and  a  title,  a  heraldic  coronet  painted  on  window  panes,  or  en- 
graved by  a  jeweler;  in  short,  a  liking  for  all  that  is  adven- 


9»  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

titious  and  least  woman  in  woman.     I  have  scorned  and 
reasoned  with  myself,  but  all  in  vain. 

"A  woman  of  rank  with  her  subtle  smile,  her  high-born 
air,  and  self-esteem  captivates  me.  The  barriers  she  erects 
between  herself  and  the  world  waken  my  vanity,  a  good  half 
of  love.  There  would  be  more  relish  for  me  in  bliss  that  all 
others  envied.  If  my  mistress  does  nothing  that  other  women 
do,  and  neither  lives  nor  conducts  herself  like  them,  wears  a 
cloak  that  they  cannot  attain,  breathes  a  perfume  of  her  own, 
then  she  seems  to  rise  far  above  me.  The  further  she  rises 
from  earth,  even  in  the  earthlier  aspects  of  love,  the  fairer 
she  becomes  for  me. 

"Luckily  for  me  we  have  had  no  queen  in  France  these 
twenty  years,  for  I  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  her.  A 
woman  must  be  wealthy  to  acquire  the  manners  of  a  princess. 
What  place  had  Pauline  among  these  far-fetched  imaginings  ? 
Could  she  bring  me  the  love  that  is  death,  that  brings  every 
faculty  into  play,  the  nights  that  are  paid  for  by  life  ?  We 
hardly  die,  I  think,  for  an  insignificant  girl  who  gives  herself 
to  us ;  and  I  could  never  extinguish  these  feelings  and  poet's 
dreams  within  me.  I  was  born  for  an  inaccessible  love,  and 
fortune  has  overtopped  my  desire. 

"How  often  have  I  set  satin  shoes  on  Pauline's  tiny  feet, 
confined  her  form,  slender  as  a  young  poplar,  in  a  robe  of 
gauze,  and  thrown  a  loose  scarf  about  her  as  I  saw  her  tread 
the  carpets  in  her  mansion  and  led  her  out  to  her  splendid 
carriage!  In  such  guise  I  should  have  adored  her.  I  en- 
dowed her  with  all  the  pride  she  lacked,  stripped  her  of  her 
virtues,  her  natural  simple  charm,  and  frank  smile,  in  order 
to  plunge  her  heart  in  our  Styx  of  depravity  that  makes  in- 
vulnerable, load  her  with  our  crimes,  make  of  her  the  fantas- 
tical doll  of  our  drawing-rooms,  the  frail  being  who  lies  abed 
in  the  morning  and  comes  to  life  again  at  night  with  the 
dawn  of  tapers.  Pauline  was  fresh-hearted  and  affectionate — 
I  would  have  had  her  cold  and  formal. 

"In  the  last  days  of  my  frantic  folly,  memory  brought 
Pauline  before  me,  as  it  brinsfs  the  scenes  of  our  childhood. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  OR 

and  made  me  pause  to  muse  over  past  delicious  moments  that 
softened  my  heart.  I  sometimes  saw  her,  the  adorable  girl 
who  sat  quietly  sewing  at  my  table,  wrapped  in  her  medita- 
tions ;  the  faint  light  from  my  window  fell  upon  her  and  was 
reflected  back  in  silvery  rays  from  her  thick  black  hair ;  some- 
times I  heard  her  young  laughter,  or  the  rich  tones  of  her 
voice  singing  some  canzonet  that  she  composed  without  effort. 
And  often  my  Pauline  seemed  to  grow  greater,  as  music 
flowed  from  her,  and  her  face  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to 
the  noble  one  that  Carlo  Dolci  chose  for  the  type  of  Italy. 
My  cruel  memory  brought  her  back  athwart  the  dissipations 
of  my  existence,  like  a  remorse,  or  a  symbol  of  purity.  But 
let  us  leave  the  poor  child  to  her  own  fate.  Whatever  her 
troubles  may  have  been,  at  any  rate  I  protected  her  from  a 
menacing  tempest — I  did  not  drag  her  down  into  my  hell. 

"Until  last  winter  I  led  the  uneventful  studious  life  of 
which  I  have  given  you  some  faint  picture.  In  the  earliest 
days  of  December  1829,  I  came  across  Eastignac,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  shabby  condition  of  my  wardrobe,  linked  his  arm 
in  mine,  and  inquired  into  my  affairs  with  a  quite  brotherly 
interest.  Caught  by  his  engaging  manner,  I  gave  him  a 
brief  account  of  my  life  and  hopes;  he  began  to  laugh,  and 
treated  me  as  a  mixture  of  a  man  of  genius  and  a  fool.  His 
Gascon  accent  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  the  easy  life  his 
clever  management  procured  for  him,  all  produced  an  irre- 
sistible effect  upon  me.  I  should  die  an  unrecognized  failure 
in  a  hospital,  Rastignac  said,  and  be  buried  in  a  pauper's 
grave.  He  talked  of  charlatanism.  Every  man  of  genius  was 
a  charlatan,  he  plainly  showed  me  in  that  pleasant  way  of 
his  that  makes  him  so  fascinating.  He  insisted  that  I  must 
be  out  of  my  senses,  and  would  be  my  own  death,  if  I  lived 
on  alone  in  the  Rue  des  Cordiers.  According  to  him,  I  ought 
to  go  into  society,  to  accustom  people  to  the  sound  of  my 
name,  and  to  rid  myself  of  the  simple  title  of  'monsieur' 
which  sits  but  ill  on  a  great  man  in  his  lifetime. 

"  'Those  who  know  no  better,'  he  cried,  'call  this  sort  of 
business  scheming,  and  moral  people  condemn  it  for  a  "dis- 


95  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

sipated  life."  We  need  not  stop  to  look  at  what  people  think, 
but  see  the  results.  You  work,  you  say?  Very  good,  but 
nothing  will  ever  come  of  that.  Now,  I  am  ready  for  any- 
thing and  fit  for  nothing.  As  lazy  as  a  lobster  ?  Very  likely, 
but  I  succeed  everywhere.  I  go  out  into  society,  I  push  my- 
self forward,  the  others  make  way  before  me ;  I  brag  and  am 
believed ;  I  incur  debts  which  somebody  else  pays  !  Dissipa- 
tion, dear  boy,  is  a  methodical  policy.  The  life  of  a  man 
who  deliberately  runs  through  his  fortune  often  becomes  a 
business  speculation;  his  friends,  his  pleasures,  patrons,  and 
acquaintances  are  his  capital.  Suppose  a  merchant  runs  a 
risk  of  a  million,  for  twenty  years  he  can  neither  sleep,  eat, 
nor  amuse  himself ;  he  is  brooding  over  his  million ;  it  makes 
him  run  about  all  over  Europe;  he  worries  himself,  goes  to 
the  devil  in  every  way  that  man  has  invented.  Then  comes  a 
liquidation,  such  as  I  have  seen  myself,  which  very  often 
leaves  him  penniless  and  without  a  reputation  or  a  friend. 
The  spendthrift,  on  the  other  hand,  takes  life  as  a  serious 
game,  and  sees  his  horses  run.  He  loses  his  capital,  perhaps, 
but  he  stands  a  chance  of  being  nominated  Eeceiver-General, 
of  making  a  wealthy  marriage,  or  of  an  appointment  of  at- 
tache to  a  minister  or  ambassador;  and  he  has  his  friends 
left  and  his  name,  and  he  never  wants  money.  He  knows  the 
standing  of  everybody,  and  uses  every  one  for  his  own  benefit. 
Is  this  logical,  or  am  I  a  madman  after  all?  Haven't  you 
there  all  the  moral  of  the  comedy  that  goes  on  every  day  in 
this  world?  .  .  .  Your  work  is  completed/  he  went  on 
after  a  pause ;  'you  are  immensely  clever !  "Well,  you  have 
only  arrived  at  my  starting-point.  Now,  you  had  better  look 
after  its  success  yourself ;  it  is  the  surest  way.  You  will  make 
allies  in  every  clique,  and  secure  applause  beforehand.  I  mean 
to  go  halves  in  your  glory  myself ;  I  shall  be  the  jeweler  who 
set  the  diamonds  in  your  crown.  Come  here  to-morrow  even- 
ing, by  way  of  a  beginning.  I  will  introduce  you  to  a  house 
where  all  Paris  goes,  all  our  Paris,  that  is — the  Paris  of  ex- 
quisites, millionaires,  celebrities,  all  the  folk  who  talk  gold 
like  Chrysostom.    When  they  have  taken  up  a  book,  that  book 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  97 

becomes  the  fashion;  and  if  it  is  something  really  good  for 
once,  they  will  have  declared  it  to  be  a  work  of  genius  without 
knowing  it.  If  you  have  any  sense,  my  dear  fellow,  jon  will 
ensure  the  success  of  your  "Theory,"  by  a  better  understand- 
ing of  the  theory  of  success.  To-morrow  evening  you  shall 
go  to  see  that  queen  of  the  moment — the  beautiful  Countess 
Fcedora.     .     .     / 

"  'I  have  never  heard  of  her.     .     .     .' 

"  'You  Hottentot !'  laughed  Eastignac ;  *you  do  not  know 
Fcfidora?  A  great  match  with  an  income  of  nearly  eighty 
thousand  livres,  who  has  taken  a  fancy  to  nobody,  or  else  no 
one  has  taken  a  fancy  to  her.  A  sort  of  feminine  enigma,  a 
half  Russian  Parisienne,  or  a  half  Parisian  Russian.  All  the 
romantic  productions  that  never  get  published  are  brought 
out  at  her  house ;  she  is  the  handsomest  woman  in  Paris,  and 
the  most  gracious  !  You  are  not  even  a  Hottentot ;  you  are 
something  between  the  Hottentot  and  the  beast.  .  .  . 
Good-bye  till  to-morrow.' 

"He  swung  round  on  his  heel  and  made  off  without  waiting 
for  my  answer.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  a  reasoning 
being  could  refuse  an  introduction  to  Fcedora.  How  can  the 
fascination  of  a  name  be  explained?  Fcedora  haunted  me 
like  some  evil  thought,  with  which  you  seek  to  come  to  terms. 
A  voice  said  in  me,  'You  are  going  to  see  Fcedora !'  In  vain 
I  reasoned  with  that  voice,  saying  that  it  lied  to  me ;  all  my 
arguments  were  defeated  by  the  name  'Fcedora.'  Was  not  the 
name,  and  even  the  woman  herself,  the  symbol  of  all  my  de- 
sires, and  the  object  of  my  life? 

"The  name  called  up  recollections  of  the  conventional  glit- 
ter of  the  world,  the  upper  world  of  Paris  with  its  brilliant 
fetes  and  the  tinsel  of  its  vanities.  The  woman  brought  be- 
fore me  all  the  problems  of  passion  on  which  my  mind  con- 
tinually ran.  Perhaps  it  was  neither  the  woman  nor  the  name, 
but  my  own  propensities,  that  sprang  up  within  me  and 
tempted  me  afresh.  Here  was  the  Countess  Fcedora,  rich 
and  loveless,  proof  against  the  temptations  of  Paris ;  was  not 
this  woman  the  very  incarnation  of  my  hopes  and  visi*^*? 

7 


98  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

I  fashioned  her  for  myself,  drew  her  in  fancy,  and  dreamed 
of  her.  I  could  not  sleep  that  night;  I  became  her  lover;  I 
overbrimmed  a  few  hours  with  a  whole  lifetime — a  lover's 
lifetime;  the  experience  of  its  prolific  delights  burned  me. 

"The  next  day  I  could  not  bear  the  tortures  of  delay;  I 
borrowed  a  novel,  and  spent  the  whole  day  over  it,  so  that  I 
could  not  possibly  think  nor  keep  account  of  the  time  till 
night.  Fcedora's  name  echoed  through  me  even  as  I  read, 
but  only  as  a  distant  sound ;  though  it  could  be  heard,  it  was 
not  troublesome.  Fortunately,  I  owned  a  fairly  creditable 
black  coat  and  a  white  waistcoat ;  of  all  my  fortune  there  now 
remained  about  thirty  francs,  which  I  had  distributed  about 
among  my  clothes  and  in  my  drawers,  so  as  to  erect  between 
my  whims  and  the  spending  of  a  five-franc  piece  a  thorny 
barrier  of  search,  and  an  adventurous  peregrination  round 
my  room.  While  I  was  dressing,  I  dived  about  for  my  money 
in  an  ocean  of  papers.  This  scarcity  of  specie  will  give  you 
some  idea  of  the  value  of  that  squandered  upon  gloves  and 
cab-hire;  a  month's  bread  disappeared  at  one  fell  swoop. 
Alas !  money  is  always  forthcoming  for  our  caprices ;  we  only 
grudge  the  cost  of  things  that  are  useful  or  necessary.  We 
recklessly  fling  gold  to  an  opera-dancer,  and  haggle  with  a 
tradesman  whose  hungry  family  rzust  wait  for  the  settlement 
of  our  bill.  How  many  men  are  there  that  wear  a  coat  that 
cost  a  hundred  francs,  and  carry  a  diamond  in  the  head  of 
their  cane,  and  dine  for  twenty-five  soiis  for  all  that !  It 
seems  as  though  we  could  never  pay  enough  for  the  pleasures 
of  vanity. 

"Eastignac,  punctual  to  his  appointment,  smiled  at  the 
transformation,  and  joked  about  it.  On  the  way  he  gave  me 
benevolent  advice  as  to  my  conduct  with  the  countess ;  he  de- 
scribed her  as  mean,  vain,  and  suspicious ;  but  though  mean, 
she  was  ostentatious,  her  vanity  was  transparent,  and  her  mis- 
trust good-humored. 

"  ^''ou  know  I  am  pledged,'  he  said,  *and  what  I  should 
lose,  too,  if  I  tried  a  change  in  love.  So  my  observation  of 
Foedora  has  been  quite  cool  and  disinterested,  and  my  remarks 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  09 

must  have  some  truth  in  them.  I  was  looking  to  your  future 
when  I  thought  of  introducing  you  to  her ;  so  mind  very  care- 
fully what  I  am  about  to  say.  She  has  a  terrible  memory. 
She  is  clever  enough  to  drive  a  diplomatist  wild;  she  would 
know  it  at  once  if  he  spoke  the  truth.  Between  ourselves,  I 
fancy  that  her  marriage  was  not  recognized  by  the  Emperor, 
for  the  Eussian  ambassador  began  to  smile  when  I  spoke  of 
her ;  he  does  not  receive  her  either,  and  only  bows  very  coolly 
if  he  meets  her  in  the  Bois.  For  all  that,  she  is  in  Madame 
de  Serizy's  set,  and  visits  Mesdames  de  Nueingen  and  de 
Eestaud.  There  is  no  cloud  over  her  here  in  France;  the 
Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  the  most  strait-laced  marechale  in 
the  whole  Bonapartist  coterie,  often  goes  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer with  her  at  her  country  house.  Plenty  of  young  fops, 
sons  of  peers  of  France,  have  oifered  her  a  title  in  exchange 
for  her  fortune,  and  she  has  politely  declined  them  all.  Her 
susceptibilities,  maybe,  are  not  to  be  touched  by  anything 
less  than  a  count.  Aren't  you  a  marquis  ?  iCto  ahead  if  j-^ou 
fancy  her.  This  is  what  you  may  call  receiving  youT  instruc- 
tions.' 

"His  raillery  made  me  think  that  Eastignac  wished  to 
joke  and  excite  my  curiosity,  so  that  I  was  in  a  paroxysm  of 
my  extemporized  passion  by  the  time  that  we  stopped  before 
a  peristyle  full  of  flowers.  My  heart  beat  and  my  color  rose 
as  we  went  up  the  great  carpeted  staircase,  and  I  noticed 
about  me  all  the  studied  refinements  of  English  comfort ;  I  was 
infatuatedly  bourgeois;  I  forgot  my  origin  and  all  my  per- 
sonal and  family  pride.  Alas !  I  had  but  just  left  a  garret, 
after  three  years  of  poverty,  and  I  could  not  just  then  set  the 
treasures  there  acquired  above  such  trifles  as  these.  Nor 
could  I  rightly  estimate  the  worth  of  the  vast  intellectual 
capital  which  turns  to  riches  at  the  moment  when  oppor- 
tunity comes  within  our  reach,  opportunity  that  does  not 
overwhelm,  because  study  has  prepared  us  for  the  struggles  of 
public  life. 

'1  found  a  woman  of  about  twenty-two  years  of  age ;  she 
was  of  average  height,  was  dressed  in  white,  and  held  a  feather 


100  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

fire-screen  in  her  hand;  a  group  of  men  stood  around  her. 
She  rose  at  the  sight  of  Rastignac,  and  came  towards  us  with 
a  gracious  smile  and  a  musically-uttered  compliment,  pre- 
pared no  doubt  beforehand,  for  me.  Our  friend  had  spoken 
of  me  as  a  rising  man,  and  his  clever  way  of  making  the  most 
of  me  had  procured  me  this  flattering  reception.  I  was  con- 
fused by  the  attention  that  every  one  paid  to  me;  but  Eas- 
tignac  had  luckily  mentioned  my  modesty.  I  was  brought 
in  contact  with  scholars,  men  of  letters,  ex-ministers,  and 
peers  of  France.  The  conversation,  interrupted  a  while  by 
my  coming,  was  resumed.  I  took  courage,  feeling  that  T  had 
a  reputation  to  maintain,  and  without  abusing  my  privilege, 
I  spoke  when  it  fell  to  me  to  speak,  trying  to  state  the  ques- 
tions at  issue  in  words  more  or  less  profound,  witty  or  trench- 
ant, and  I  made  a  certain  sensation.  Rastignac  was  a  prophet 
for  the  thousandth  time  in  his  life.  As  soon  as  the  gather- 
ing was  large  enough  to  restore  freedom  to  individuals,  he 
took  my  arm,  and  we  went  round  the  rooms. 

"  *Don't  look  as  if  you  were  too  much  struck  by  the 
princess,'  he  said,  'or  she  will  guess  your  object  in  coming 
to  visit  her.' 

"The  rooms  were  furnished  in  excellent  taste.  Each  apart- 
ment had  a  character  of  its  own,  as  in  wealthy  English  houses; 
and  the  silken  hangings,  the  style  of  the  furniture,  and  the 
ornaments,  even  the  most  trifling,  were  all  subordinated  to 
the  original  idea.  In  a  gothic  boudoir  the  doors  were  con- 
cealed by  tapestried  curtains,  and  the  paneling  by  hangings ; 
the  clock  and  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  were  made  to  harmo- 
nize with  the  gothic  surroundings.  The  ceiling,  with  its 
carved  cross-beams  of  brown  wood,  was  full  of  charm  and 
originality;  the  panels  were  beautifully  wrought;  nothing 
disturbed  the  general  harmony  of  the  scheme  of  decoration, 
not  even  the  windows  with  their  rich  colored  glass.  I  was 
surprised  by  the  extensive  knowledge  of  decoration  that  some 
artist  had  brought  to  bear  on  a  little  modern  room,  it  was  so 
pleasant  and  fresh,  and  not  heavy,  but  subdued  with  its  dead 
gold  hues.    It  had  all  the  vague  sentiment  of  a  German  bal- 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         101 

lad;  it  was  a  retreat  fit  for  some  romance  of  1827,  perfumed 
by  the  exotic  flowers  set  in  their  stands.  Another  apartment 
in  the  suite  was  a  gilded  reproduction  of  the  Louis  Quatorze 
period,  with  modern  paintings  on  the  walls  in  odd  but  pleas- 
ant contrast. 

"■^You  would  not  be  so  badly  lodged,'  was  Eastignac's 
slightly  sarcastic  comment.  'It  is  captivating,  isn't  it?'  he 
added,  smiling  as  he  sat  down.  Then  suddenly  he  rose,  and 
led  me  by  the  hand  into  a  bedroom,  where  the  softened  light 
fell  upon  the  bed  under  its  canopy  of  muslin  and  white 
watered  silk — a  couch  for  a  young  fairy  betrothed  to  one  of 
the  genii. 

""Isn't  it  wantonly  bad  taste,  insolent  and  unbounded 
coquetry,'  he  said,  lowering  his  voice,  'that  allows  us  to  see 
this  throne  of  love?  She  gives  herself  to  no  one,  and  any- 
body may  leave  his  card  here.  If  I  were  not  committed,  I 
should  like  to  see  her  at  my  feet  all  tears  and  submission.' 

"  'Are  you  so  certain  of  her  virtue  ?' 

"  'The  boldest  and  even  the  cleverest  adventurers  among  us, 
acknowledge  themselves  defeated,  and  continue  to  be  her 
lovers  and  devoted  friends.    Isn't  that  woman  a  puzzle  ?' 

"His  words  seemed  to  intoxicate  me;  I  had  jealous  fears 
already  of  the  past.  I  leapt  for  jo}^  and  hurried  back  to  the 
coumess,  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  gothic  boudoir.  She  stopped 
me  by  a  smile,  made  me  sit  beside  her,  and  talked  about  my 
work,  seeming  to  take  the  greatest  interest  in  it,  and  all  the 
more  when  I  set  forth  my  theories  amusingly,  instead  of 
adopting  the  formal  language  of  a  professor  for  their  explana- 
tion. It  seemed  to  divert  her  to  be  told  that  the  human  will 
was  a  material  force  like  steam;  that  in  the  moral  world 
nothing  could  resist  its  power  if  a  man  taught  himself  to 
concentrate  it,  to  economize  it,  and  to  project  continually 
its  fluid  mass  in  given  directions  upon  other  souls.  Such  a 
man,  I  said,  could  modify  all  things  relatively  to  man,  even 
the  peremptory  laws  of  nature.  The  questions  Foedora  raised 
showed  a  certain  keenness  of  intellect.  I  took  a  pleasure  in 
deciding  some  of  them  in  her  favor,  in  order  to  flatter  her; 


102  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

then  I  confuted  her  feminine  reasoning  with  a  word,  and 
roused  her  curiosity  by  drawing  her  attention  to  an  every- 
day matter — to  sleep,  a  thing  so  apparently  commonplace, 
that  in  reality  is  an  insoluble  problem  for  science.  The 
countess  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment  when  I  told  her  that  our 
ideas  were  complete  organic  beings,  existing  in  an  invisible 
world,  and  influencing  our  destinies ;  and  for  witnesses  I  cited 
the  opinions  of  Descartes,  Diderot,  and  Xapoleon,  who  had 
directed,  and  still  directed,  all  the  currents  of  the  age. 

"So  I  had  the  honor  of  amusing  this  woman;  she  asked 
me  to  come  to  see  her  when  she  left  me;  giving  me  les  grande 
entrees,  in  the  language  of  the  court.     Whether  it  was  by 
dint  of  substituting  polite  formulas  for  genuine  expressions 
of  feeling,  a  commendable  habit  of  mine,  or  because  Foedora 
hailed  in  me  a  coming  celebrity,  an  addition  to  her  learned 
menagerie ;  for  some  reason  I  thought  I  had  pleased  her.    I 
called  all  my  previous  physiological  studies  and  knowledge 
of  woman  to  my  aid,  and  minutely  scrutinized  this  singular 
person  and  her  ways  all  the  evening.    I  concealed  myself  in 
the  embrasure  of  a  window,   and  sought  to   discover   her 
thoughts  from  her  bearing.    I  studied  the  tactics  of  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  as  she  came  and  went,  sat  and  chatted, 
beckoned  to  this  one  or  that,  asked  questions,  listened  to  the 
answers,  as  she  leaned  against  the  frame  of  the  door;  I  de- 
tected a  languid  charm  in  her  movements,  a  grace  in  the 
flutterings  of  her  dress,  remarked  the  nature  of  the  feelings 
she  so  powerfully  excited,  and  became  very  incredulous  as  to 
her  virtue.     If  Foedora  would  none  of  love  to-day,  she  had 
had  strong  passions  at  some  time ;  past  experience  of  pleasure 
showed  itself  in  the  attitudes  she  chose  in  conversation,  in  her 
coquettish  way  of  leaning  against  the  panel  behind  her;  she 
seemed  scarcely  able  to  stand  alone,  and  yet  ready  for  flight 
from  too  bold  a  glance.    There  was  a  kind  of  eloquence  about 
her  lightly  folded  arms,  which,  even  for  benevolent  eyes, 
breathed  sentiment.     Her  fresh  red  lips  sharply  contrasted 
with  her  brilliantly  pale  complexion.  Her  brown  hair  brought 
out  all  the  golden  color  in  her  eyes,  in  which  blue  streaks 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         103 

mingled  as  in  Florentine  marble;  their  expression  seemed 
to  increase  the  significance  of  her  words.  A  studied  grace 
lay  in  the  charms  of  her  bodice.  Perhaps  a  rival  might  have 
found  the  lines  of  the  thick  eyebrows,  which  almost  met,  a 
little  hard ;  or  found  a  fault  in  the  almost  invisible  down  that 
covered  her  features.  I  saw  the  signs  of  passion  everywhere, 
written  on  those  Italian  eyelids,  on  the  splendid  shoulders 
worthy  of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  on  her  features,  in  the  darker 
shade  of  down  above  a  somewhat  thick  under-lip.  She  was 
not  merely  a  woman,  but  a  romance.  The  whole  blended 
harmony  of  lines,  the  feminine  luxuriance  of  her  frame,  and 
its  passionate  promise,  were  subdued  by  a  constant  inex- 
plicable reserve  and  modesty  at  variance  with  everything 
else  about  her.  It  needed  an  observation  as  keen  as  my  own 
to  detect  such  signs  as  these  in  her  character.  To  explain 
myself  more  clearly ;  there  were  two  women  in  Fcedora,  di- 
vided perhaps  by  the  line  between  head  and  body:  the  one, 
the  head  alone,  seemed  to  be  susceptible,  and  the  other  phleg- 
matic. She  prepared  her  glance  before  she  looked  at  you, 
something  unspeakably  mysterious,  some  inward  convulsion 
seemed  revealed  by  her  glittering  eyes. 

"So,  to  be  brief,  either  my  imperfect  moral  science  had 
left  me  a  good  deal  to  learn  in  the  moral  world,  or  a  lofty 
soul  dwelt  in  the  countess,  lent  to  her  face  those  charms  that 
fascinated  and  subdued  us,  and  gave  her  an  ascendency  only 
the  more  complete  because  it  comprehended  a  sympathy  of 
desire. 

"I  went  away  completely  enraptured  with  this  woman,  daz- 
zled by  the  luxury  around  her,  gratified  in  every  faculty  of 
my  soul — noble  and  base,  good  and  evil.  When  I  felt  myself 
so  excited,  eager,  and  elated,  I  thought  I  understood  the  at- 
traction that  drew  thither  those  artists,  diplomatists,  men  in 
office,  those  stock-jobbers  encased  in  triple  brass.  Thev  came, 
no  doubt,  to  find  in  her  society  the  delirious  emotion  that  now 
thrilled  through  every  fibre  in  me,  throbbing  through  my 
brain,  setting  the  blood  a-tingle  in  every  vein,  fretting  even 
the  tiniest  nerve.    And  she  had  given  herself  to  none,  so  as  to 


104  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

keep  them  all.  A  woman  is  a  coquette  so  long  as  she  knows 
not  love. 

"'Well/  I  said  to  Kastignac,  'they  married  her,  or  sold 
her  perhaps,  to  some  old  man,  and  recollections  of  her  first 
marriage  have  caused  her  aversion  for  love.' 

"I  walked  home  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  where 
Foedora  lived.  Almost  all  the  breadth  of  Paris  lies  between 
her  mansion  and  the  Rue  des  Cordiers,  but  the  distance 
seemed  short,  in  spite  of  the  cold.  And  I  was  to  lay  siege  to 
Foedora's  heart,  in  winter,  and  a  bitter  winter,  with  only 
thirty  francs  in  my  possession,  and  such  a  distance  as  that 
lay  between  us  !  Only  a  poor  man  knows  what  such  a  passion 
costs  in  cab-hire,  gloves,  linen,  tailor's  bills,  and  the  like.  If 
the  Platonic  stage  lasts  a  little  too  long,  the  affair  grows  ruin- 
ous. As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  many  a  Lauzun  among 
students  of  law,  who  finds  it  impossible  to  approach  a  lady- 
love living  on  a  first  floor.  And  I,  sickly,  thin,  poorly  dressed, 
wan  and  pale  as  any  artist  convalescent  after  a  work,  how 
could  I  compete  with  other  young  men,  curled,  handsome, 
smart,  outcravatting  Croatia ;  wealthy  men,  equipped  with  til- 
burys,  and  armed  with  assurance  ? 

"  'Bah,  death  or  Fcedora !'  I  cried,  as  I  went  round  by  a 
bridge ;  'my  fortune  lies  in  Foedora.' 

"That  gothic  boudoir  and  Louis  Quatorze  salon  came  before 
my  eyes.  I  saw  the  countess  again  in  her  white  dress  with  its 
large  graceful  sleeves,  and  all  the  fascinations  of  her  form  and 
movements.  These  pictures  of  Foedora  and  her  luxurious 
surroundings  haunted  me  even  in  my  bare,  cold  garret,  when 
at  last  I  reached  it,  as  disheveled  as  any  naturalist's  wig. 
The  contrast  suggested  evil  counsel ;  in  such  a  way  crimes  are 
conceivfid.  I  cursed  my  honest,  self-respecting  poverty,  my 
garret  where  such  teeming  fancies  had  stirred  within  me.  I 
trembled  with  fury,  I  reproached  God,  the  devil,  social  con- 
ditions, my  own  father,  the  whole  universe,  indeed,  with  my 
fate  and  my  misfortunes.  I  went  hungry  to  bed,  muttering 
ludicrous  imprecations,  but  fully  determined  to  win  Foedora. 
Her  heart  was  my  last  ticket  in  the  lottery,  my  fortune  d^ 
pended  upon  it. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         105 

*T!  spare  you  the  history  of  my  earlier  visits,  to  reach  the 
drama  the  sooner.  In  my  efforts  to  appeal  to  her,  I  essayed 
to  engage  her  intellect  and  her  vanity  on  my  side;  in  order 
to  secure  her  love,  I  gave  her  any  quantity  of  reasons  for  in- 
creasing her  self-esteem ;  I  never  left  her  in  a  state  of  indif- 
ference ;  women  like  emotions  at  any  cost,  I  gave  them  to  her 
in  plenty;  I  would  rather  have  had  her  angry  with  me  than 
indifferent. 

"At  first,  urged  by  a  strong  will  and  a  desire  for  her  love, 
I  assumed  a  little  authority,  but  my  own  feelings  grew 
stronger  and  mastered  me;  I  relapsed  into  truth,  I  lost  my 
head,  and  fell  desperately  in  love. 

"I  am  not  very  sure  what  we  mean  by  the  word  love  in 
our  poetry  and  our  talk ;  but  I  know  that  I  have  never  found 
in  all  the  ready  rhetorical  phrases  of  Jean-Jacques  Eousseau, 
in  whose  room  perhaps  I  was  lodging ;  nor  among  the  feeble 
inventions  of  two  centuries  of  our  literature,  nor  in  any  pic- 
ture that  Italy  has  produced,  a  representation  of  the  feelings 
that  expanded  all  at  once  in  my  double  nature.  The  view  of 
the  lake  of  Bienne,  some  music  of  Eossini's,  the  Madonna  of 
Murillo's  now  in  the  possession  of  General  Soult,  Lescombat's 
letters,  a  few  sayings  scattered  through  collections  of  anec- 
dotes ;  but  most  of  all  the  prayers  of  religious  ecstatics,  and 
passages  in  our  fabliaux, — these  things  alone  have  power  to 
carry  me  back  to  the  divine  heights  of  my  first  love. 

"Nothing  expressed  in  human  language,  no  thought  repro- 
ducible in  color,  marble,  sound,  or  articulate  speech,  could 
ever  render  the  force,  the  truth,  the  completeness,  the  sud- 
denness with  which  love  awoke  in  me.  To  speak  of  art,  is  to 
speak  of  illusion.  Love  passes  through  endless  transforma- 
tions before  it  passes  for  ever  into  our  existence  and  makes  it 
glow  with  its  own  color  of  flame.  The  process  is  impercep- 
tible, and  baffles  the  artist's  analvsis.  Its  moans  and 
complaints  are  tedious  to  an  uninterested  spectator.  One 
would  need  to  be  very  much  in  love  to  share  the  furious  trans- 
ports of  Lovelace,  as  one  reads  Clarissa  Harlowe.  Love  is 
like  some  fresh  spring,  that  leaves  its  cresses,  its  gravel  bed 


106  THE  MAGIG  SKIN 

and  flowers,  to  become  first  a  stream  and  then  a  river,  chang- 
ing its  aspect  and  its  nature  as  it  flows  to  plunge  itself  in 
some  boundless  ocean,  where  restricted  natures  only  find  mo- 
notony, but  where  great  souls  are  engvdfed  in  endless  con- 
templation. 

"How  can  I  dare  to  describe  the  hues  of  fleeting  emotions, 
the  nothings  beyond  all  price,  the  spoken  accents  that  beggar 
language,  the  looks  that  hold  more  than  all  the  wealth  of 
poetry?  Not  one  of  the  mysterious  scenes  that  draw  us  in- 
sensibly nearer  and  nearer  to  a  woman,  but  has  depths  in  it 
which  can  swallow  up  all  the  poetry  that  ever  was  written. 
How  can  the  inner  life  and  mystery  that  stirs  in  our  souls 
penetrate  through  our  glozes,  when  we  have  not  even  words 
to  describe  the  visible  and  outward  mysteries  of  beauty  ?  What 
enchantment  steeped  me  for  how  many  hours  in  unspeakable 
rapture,  filled  with  the  sight  of  Her !  What  made  me  happy  ? 
I  know  not.  That  face  of  hers  overflowed  with  light  at  such 
times ;  it  seemed  in  some  way  to  glow  with  it ;  the  outlines  of 
her  face,  with  the  scarcely  perceptible  do^vn  on  its  delicate 
surface,  shone  with  a  beauty  belonging  to  the  far  distant 
horizon  that  melts  into  the  sunlight.  The  light  of  day 
seemed  to  caress  her  as  she  mingled  in  it;  rather  it  seemed 
that  the  light  of  her  eyes  was  brighter  than  the  daylight 
itself;  or  some  shadow  passing  over  that  fair  face  made  a  kind 
of  change  there,  altering  its  hues  and  its  expression.  Some 
thought  would  often  seem  to  glow  on  her  white  brows;  her 
eyes  appeared  to  dilate,  and  her  eyelids  trembled ;  a  smile 
rippled  over  her  features;  the  living  coral  of  her  lips  grew 
full  of  meaning  as  they  closed  and  unclosed;  an  indistin- 
guishable something  in  her  hair  made  brown  shadows  on  her 
fair  temples :  in  each  new  phase  Foedora  spoke.  Every  slight 
variation  in  her  beauty  made  a  new  pleasure  for  my  eyes,  dis- 
closed charms  my  heart  had  never  known  before;  I  tried  to 
read  a  separate  emotion  or  a  hope  in  every  change  that  passed 
over  her  face.  This  mute  converse  passed  between  soul  and 
soul,  like  sound  and  answering  echo;  and  the  short-lived  de- 
lights then  showered  upon  me  have  left  indelible  impressions 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  107 

behind.  Her  voice  would  cause  a  frenzy  in  me  that  I  could 
hardly  understand.  I  could  have  copied  the  example  of 
some  prince  of  Lorraine,  and  held  a  live  coal  in  the  hollow  of' 
my  hand,  if  her  fingers  passed  caressingly  through  my  hair 
the  while.  I  felt  no  longer  mere  admiration  and  desire:  I 
was  under  the  spell ;  I  had  met  my  destiny.  When  back  again 
under  my  own  roof,  I  still  vaguely  saw  Foedora  in  her  own 
home,  and  had  some  indefinable  share  in  her  life ;  if  she  felt 
ill,  I  suffered  too.    The  next  day  I  used  to  say  to  her : 

"  'You  were  not  well  j^esterday.' 

"How  often  has  she  not  stood  before  me,  called  by  the 
power  of  ecstasy,  in  the  silence  of  the  night !  Sometimes  she 
would  break  in  upon  me  like  a  ray  of  light,  make  me  drop  my 
pen,  and  put  science  and  study  to  flight  in  grief  and  alarm, 
as  she  compelled  my  admiration  by  the  alluring  pose  I  had 
seen  but  a  short  time  before.  Sometimes  I  went  to  seek  her 
in  the  spirit  world,  and  would  bow  down  to  her  as  to  a  hope, 
entreating  her  to  let  me  hear  the  silver  sounds  of  her  voice, 
and  I  would  wake  at  length  in  tears. 

"Once,  when  she  had  promised  to  go  to  the  theatre  with 
me,  she  took  it  suddenly  into  her  head  to  refuse  to  go  out, 
and  begged  me  to  leave  her  alone.  I  was  in  such  despair  over 
the  perversity  which  cost  me  a  day's  work,  and  (if  I  must  con- 
fess it)  my  last  shilling  as  well,  that  I  went  alone  where  she 
was  to  have  been,  desiring  to  see  the  play  she  had  wished  to 
see.  I  had  scarcely  seated  myself  when  an  electric  shock  went 
through  me.  A  voice  told  me,  'She  is  here !'  I  looked  round, 
and  saw  the  countess  hidden  in  the  shadow  at  the  back  of  her 
box  in  the  first  tier.  My  look  did  not  waver ;  my  eyes  saw  her 
at  once  with  incredible  clearness;  my  soul  hovered  about  her 
life  like  an  insect  above  its  flower.  How  had  my  senses  re- 
ceived this  warning?  There  is  something  in  these  inward 
tremors  that  shallow  people  And  astonishing,  but  the  phe- 
nomena of  our  inner  consciousness  are  produced  as  simply  as 
those  of  external  vision;  so  I  was  not  surprised,  but  much 
vexed.  My  studies  of  our  mental  faculties,  so  little  under- 
stood, helped  me  at  any  rate  to  find  in  my  own  excitement 


108  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

some  tiving  proofs  of  my  theories.  There  was  something  ex- 
ceedingly odd  in  this  combination  of  lover  and  man  of  sci- 
ence, of  downright  idolatry  of  a  woman  with  the  love  of 
knowledge.  The  causes  of  the  lover's  despair  were  highly  in- 
teresting to  the  man  of  science ;  and  the  exultant  lover,  on  the 
other  hand,  put  science  far  away  from  him  in  his  joy, 
Fcedora  saw  me,  and  grew  grave :  I  annoyed  her.  I  went  to 
her  box  during  the  first  interval,  and,  finding  her  alone,  I 
stayed  there.  Although  we  had  not  spoken  of  love,  I  foresaw 
an  explanation.  I  had  not  told  her  my  secret,  still  there  was 
a  kind  of  understanding  between  us.  She  used  to  tell  me 
her  plans  for  amusement,  and  on  the  previous  evening  had 
asked  with  friendly  eagerness  if  I  meant  to  call  next  day. 
After  any  witticism  of  hers,  she  would  give  me  an  inquiring 
glance,  as  if  she  h&d  sought  to  please  me  alone  by  it.  She 
would  soothe  me  if  I  was  vexed ;  and  if  she  pouted,  I  had  in 
some  sort  a  right  to  ask  an  explanation.  Before  she  would 
pardon  an}'-  blunder,  she  would  keep  me  a  suppliant  for  long. 
All  these  things  that  we  so  relished,  were  so  many  lovers' 
quarrels.  What  arch  grace  she  threw  into  it  all !  and  what 
happiness  it  was  to  me ! 

"But  now  we  stood  before  each  other  as  strangers,  with  the 
close  relation  between  us  both  suspended.  The  countess  was 
glacial :  a  presentiment  of  trouble  filled  me. 

"  '^Will  you  come  home  with  me  ?'  she  said,  when  the  play 
was  over. 

"There  had  been  a  sudden  change  in  the  weather,  and  sleet 
was  falling  in  showers  as  we  went  out.  Foedora's  carriage 
was  unable  to  reach  the  doorway  of  the  theatre.  At  the  sight 
of  a  well-dressed  woman  about  to  cross  the  street,  a  com- 
missionaire held  an  umbrella  above  us,  and  stood  waiting  at 
the  carriage-door  for  his  tip.  I  would  have  given  ten  years 
of  life  just  then  for  a  couple  of  halfpence,  but  I  had  not  a 
penny.  All  the  man  in  me  and  all  my  vainest  susceptibilities 
were  wrung  with  an  infernal  pain.  The  words,  'I  haven't  a 
penny  about  me,  my  good  fellow !'  come  from  me  in  the  hard 
voice  of  thwarted  passion ;  and  yet  I  was  that  man's  brother 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         109 

in  misfortune,  as  I  knew  too  well ;  and  once  I  had  so  lightly 
paid  away  seven  hundred  thousand  francs!  The  footman 
pushed  the  man  aside,  and  the  horses  sprang  forward.  As  we 
returned,  Foedora,  in  real  or  feigned  abstraction,  answered  all 
my  questions  curtly  and  by  monosyllables.  I  said  no  more; 
it  was  a  hateful  moment.  When  we  reached  her  house,  we 
seated  ourselves  by  the  hearth,  and  when  the  servant  had 
stirred  the  fire  and  left  us  alone,  the  countess  turned  to  me 
with  an  inexplicable  expression,  and  spoke.  Her  manner  was< 
almost  solemn. 

"  'Since  my  return  to  France,  more  than  one  young  man, 
tempted  by  my  money,  has  made  proposals  to  me  which  would 
have  satisfied  my  pride.  I  have  come  across  men,  too,  whose 
attachment  was  so  deep  and  sincere  that  they  might  have 
married  me  even  if  they  had  found  me  the  penniless  girl  I 
used  to  be.  Besides  these,  Monsieur  de  Valentin,  you  must 
know  that  new  titles  and  newly-acquired  wealth  have  been  also 
offered  to  me,  and  that  I  have  never  received  again  any  of 
those  who  were  so  ill-advised  as  to  mention  love  to  me.  If  my 
regard  for  you  was  but  slight,  I  would  not  give  you  this  warn- 
ing, which  is  dictated  by  friendship  rather  than  by  pride.  A 
woman  lays  herself  open  to  a  rebuff  of  some  kind,  if  she 
imagines  herself  to  be  loved,  and  declines,  before  it  is  uttered, 
to  listen  to  language  which  in  its  nature  implies  a  compli- 
ment. I  am  well  acquainted  with  the  parts  played  by  Arsinoe 
and  Araminta,  and  with  the  sort  of  answer  I  might  look  for 
under  such  circumstances ;  but  I  hope  to-day  that  I  shall  not 
find  myself  misconstrued  by  a  man  of  no  ordinary  character, 
because  I  have  frankly  spoken  my  mind.' 

"She  spoke  with  the  cool  self-possession  of  some  attorney 
or  solicitor  explaining  the  nature  of  a  contract  or  the  conduct 
of  a  lawsuit  to  a  client.  There  was  not  the  least  sign  of  feel- 
ing in  the  clear  soft  tones  of  her  voice.  Her  steady  face  and 
dignified  bearing  seemed  to  me  now  full  of  diplomatic  reserve 
and  coldness.  She  had  planned  this  scene,  no  doubt,  and  care- 
fully chosen  her  words  beforehand.  Oh,  my  friend,  there  are 
women  who  take  pleasure  in  piercing  hearts,  and  deliberately 


110  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

plunge  the  dagger  back  again  into  the  wound;  such  women 
as  these  cannot  but  be  worshiped,  for  such  women  either 
love  or  would  fain  be  loved.  A  day  comes  when  they  make 
amends  for  all  the  pain  they  gave  us ;  they  repay  us  for  the 
pangs,  the  keenness  of  which  they  recognize,  in  joys  a  hun- 
dred-fold, even  as  God,  they  tell  us,  recompenses  our  good 
works.  Does  not  their  perversity  spring  from  the  strength 
of  their  feelings?  But  to  be  so  tortured  by  a  woman,  who 
slaughters  you  with  indifference !  was  not  the  suffering  hide- 
ous? 

"Foedora  did  not  know  it,  but  in  that  minute  she  trampled 
all  my  hopes  beneath  her  feet;  she  maimed  my  life  and  she 
blighted  my  future  with  the  cool  indifference  and  unconscious 
barbarity  of  an  inquisitive  child  who  plucks  its  wings  from  a 
butterfly. 

"  'Later  ^n,'  resumed  Fcedora,  'you  will  learn,  I  hope,  the 
stability  of  the  affection  that  I  keep  for  my  friends.  You  will 
always  find  that  I  have  devotion  and  kindness  for  them.  I 
would  give  my  life  to  serve  my  friends;  but  you  could  only 
despise  me,  if  I  allowed  them  to  make  love  to  me  without  re- 
turn. That  is  enough.  You  are  the  only  man  to  whom  I  have 
spoken  such  words  as  these  last.' 

"At  first  I  could  not  speak,  or  master  the  tempest  that  arose 
within  me;  but  I  soon  repressed  my  emotions  in  the  depths 
of  my  soul,  and  began  to  smile. 

"  'If  I  own  that  I  love  you,'  I  said,  'you  will  banish  me  at 
once ;  if  I  plead  guilty  to  indifference,  you  will  make  me  suffer 
for  it.  Women,  magistrates,  and  priests  never  quite  lay  the 
gown  aside.  Silence  is  non-committal;  be  pleased  then, 
madame,  to  approve  my  silence.  You  must  have  feared,  in 
some  degree,  to  lose  me,  or  I  should  not  have  received  this 
friendly  admonition;  and  with  that  thought  my  pride  ought 
to  be  satisfied.  Let  us  banish  all  personal  considerations. 
You  are  perhaps  the  only  woman  with  whom  I  could  discuss 
rationally  a  resolution  so  contrary  to  the  laws  of  nature.  Con- 
sidered with  regard  to  your  species,  you  are  a  prodigy.  ISTow 
let  us  investigate,  in  good  faith,  the  causes  of  this  psycho- 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  11? 

logical  anomaly.  Does  there  exist  in  you,  as  in  many  women, 
a  certain  pride  in  self,  a  love  o±  your  own  loveliness,  a  refine- 
ment of  egoism  which  makes  you  shudder  at  the  idea  of  be- 
longing to  another;  is  it  the  thought  of  resigning  your  own 
will  and  submitting  to  a  superiority,  though  only  of  conven- 
tion, which  displeases  you?  You  would  seem  to  me  a  thou- 
sand times  the  fairer  for  it.  Can  love  formerly  have  brought 
you  suffering?  You  probably  set  some  value  on  your  dainty 
figure  and  graceful  appearance,  and  may  perhaps  wish  to 
avoid  the  disfigurements  of  maternity.  Is  not  this  one  of 
your  strongest  reasons  for  refusing  a  too  importunate  love? 
Some  natural  defect  perhaps  makes  you  insusceptible  in  spite 
of  yourself  ?  Do  not  be  angry ;  my  study,  my  inquiry  is  abso- 
lutely dispassionate.  Some  are  born  blind,  and  nature  may 
easily  have  formed  women  who  in  like  manner  are  blind,  deaf, 
and  dumb  to  love.  You  are  really  an  interesting  subject  for 
medical  investigation.  You  do  not  know  your  value.  You 
feel  perhaps  a  very  legitimate  distaste  for  mankind;  in  that 
I  quite  concur — to  me  they  all  seem  ugly  and  detestable.  And 
you  are  right,'  I  added,  feeling  my  heart  swell  within  me; 
*how  can  you  do  otherwise  than  despise  us?  There  is  not  a 
man  living  who  is  worthy  of  you.' 

"I  will  not  repeat  all  the  biting  words  with  which  I  ridi- 
culed her.  In  vain ;  my  bitterest  sarcasms  and  keenest  irony 
never  made  her  wince  nor  elicited  a  sign  of  vexation.  She 
heard  me,  with  the  customary  smile  upon  her  lips  and  in  her 
eyes,  the  smile  that  she  wore  as  a  part  of  her  clothing,  and 
that  never  varied  for  friends,  for  mere  acquaintances,  or  for 
strangers. 

"  'Isn't  it  very  nice  of  me  to  allow  you  to  dissect  me  like 
this?'  she  said  at  last,  as  I  came  to  a  temporary  standstill, 
and  looked  at  her  in  silence.  *You  see,'  she  went  on,  laughing, 
'that  I  have  no  foolish  over-sensitiveness  about  my  friendship. 
Many  a  woman  would  shut  her  door  on  you  by  way  of  pun- 
ishing you  for  your  impertinence.' 

"  'You  could  banish  me  without  needing  to  give  me  the 
reasons  for  your  harshness.'  As  I  spoke  I  felt  that  I  could 
kill  her  if  she  dismissed  me. 


112  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"  'You  are  mad/'  she  said,  smiling  still. 

"  'Did  you  never  think/  I  went  on,  'of  the  effects  of  pas- 
sionate love  ?  A  desperate  man  has  often  murdered  his  mis- 
tress/ 

"  'It  is  better  to  die  than  to  live  in  misery/  she  said  coolly. 
'Such  a  man  as  that  would  run  through  his  wife's  money, 
desert  her,  and  leave  her  at  last  in  utter  wretchedness/ 

"This  calm  calculation  dumfounded  me.  The  gulf  be- 
tween us  was  made  plain;  we  could  never  understand  each 
other. 

"  'Good-bye/  I  said  proudly. 

"'Good-bye,  till  to-morrow/  she  answered,  with  a  little 
friendly  bow. 

"For  a  moment's  space  I  hurled  at  her  in  a  glance  all  the 
love  I  must  forego ;  she  stood  there  with  that  banal  smile  of 
hers,  the  detestable  chill  smile  of  a  marble  statue,  with  none 
of  the  warmth  in  it  that  it  seemed  to  express.  Can  you  form 
any  idea,  my  friend,  of  the  pain  that  overcame  me  on  the  way 
home  through  rain  and  snow^,  across  a  league  of  icy-sheeted 
quays,  without  a  hope  left?  Oh,  to  think  that  she  not  only 
had  not  guessed  my  poverty,  but  believed  me  to  be  as  wealthy 
as  she  was,  and  likewise  borne  as  softly  over  the  rough  ways 
of  life !  What  failure  and  deceit !  It  was  no  mere  question 
of  money  now,  but  of  the  fate  of  all  that  lay  within  me. 

"I  went  at  haphazard,  going  over  the  words  of  our  strange 
conversation  with  myself.  I  got  so  thoroughly  lost  in  my 
reflections  that  I  ended  by  doubts  as  to  the  actual  value  of 
words  and  ideas.  But  I  loved  her  all  the  same ;  I  loved  this 
woman  with  the  untouched  heart  that  might  surrender  at  any 
moment — a  woman  who  daily  disappointed  the  expectations 
of  the  previous  evening,  by  appearing  as  a  new  mistress  on  the 
morrow. 

"As  I  passed  under  the  gateway  of  the  Institute,  a  fevered 
thrill  ran  through  me.  I  remembered  that  I  was  fasting,  and 
that  I  had  not  a  penny.  To  complete  the  measure  of  my 
misfortune,  my  hat  was  spoiled  by  the  rain.  How  was  I  to 
appear  in  the  drawing-room  of  a  woman  of  fashion  with  an 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  113 

unpresentable  hat  ?  I  had  always  cursed  the  inane  and  stupid 
custom  that  compels  us  to  exhibit  the  lining  of  our  hats,  and 
to  keep  them  always  in  our  hands,  but  with  anxious  care  I 
had  so  far  kept  mine  in  a  precarious  state  of  efficiency.  It  had 
been  neither  strikingly  new,  nor  utterly  shabby,  neither  nap- 
less nor  over-gloss}'^,  and  might  have  passed  for  the  hat  of  a 
frugally  given  owner,  but  its  artificially  prolonged  existence 
had  now  reached  the  final  stage,  it  was  crumpled,  forlorn,  and 
completely  ruined,  a  downright  rag,  a  fitting  emblem  of  its 
master.  My  painfully  preserved  elegance  must  collapse  for 
want  of  thirt}^  sous. 

"IrVhat  unrecognized  sacrifices  I  had  made  in  the  past  three 
months  for  Foedora !  How  often  I  had  given  the  price  of  a 
week's  sustenance  to  see  her  for  a  moment!  To  leave  my 
work  and  go  without  food  was  the  least  of  it !  I  must  traverse 
the  streets  of  Paris  without  getting  splashed,  run  to  escape 
showers,  and  reach  her  rooms  at  last,  as  neat  and  spruce  as 
any  of  the  coxcombs  about  her.  For  a  poet  and  a  distracted 
wooer  the  difficulties  of  this  task  were  endless.  My  happiness, 
the  course  of  my  love,  might  be  aSected  by  a  speck  of  mud 
upon  my  only  white  waistcoat !  Oh,  to  miss  the  sight  of  her 
because  I  was  wet  through  and  bedraggled,  and  had  not  so 
much  as  five  sous  to  give  to  a  shoeblack  for  removing  the  least 
little  spot  of  mud  from  my  boot !  The  petty  pangs  of  these 
nameless  torments,  which  an  irritable  man  finds  so  great,  only 
strengthened  my  passion. 

"The  unfortunate  must  make  sacrifices  which  they  may 
not  mention  to  women  who  lead  refined  and  luxurious  lives. 
Such  women  see  things  through  a  prism  that  gilds  all  men 
and  their  surroundings.  Egoism  leads  them  to  take  cheerful 
views,  and  fashion  makes  them  cruel ;  they  do  not  wish  to  re- 
flect, lest  they  lose  their  happiness,  and  the  absorbing  nature 
of  their  pleasures  absolves  their  indifference  to  the  misfor- 
tunes of  others.  A  penny  never  means  millions  to  them; 
millions,  on  the  contrary,  seem  a  mere  trifle.  Perhaps  love 
must  plead  his  cause  by  great  sacrifices,  but  a  veil  must  be 
lightly  drawn  across  them,  they  must  go  down  into  silence. 
8 


114  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

So  when  wealthy  men  pour  out  their  devotion,  their  fortunes, 
and  their  lives,  they  gain  somewhat  by  these  commonly  enter- 
tained opinions,  an  additional  lustre  hangs  about  their  lovers' 
follies;  their  silence  is  eloquent;  there  is  a  grace  about  the 
drawn  veil ;  but  my  terrible  distress  bound  me  over  to  suffer 
fearfully  or  ever  I  might  speak  of  my  love  or  of  dying  for  her 
sake. 

'^Vas  it  a  sacrifice  after  all?  Was  I  not  richly  rewarded 
by  the  joy  I  took  in  sacrificing  everything  to  her  ?  There  was 
no  commoneet  event  of  my  daily  life  to  which  the  countess 
had  not  given  importance,  had  not  overfilled  with  happiness. 
I  had  been  hitherto  careless  of  my  clothes,  now  I  respected  my 
coat  as  if  it  had  been  a  second  self.  I  should  not  have  hesi- 
tated between  bodily  harm  and  a  tear  in  that  garment.  You 
must  enter  wholly  into  my  circumstances  to  understand  the 
stormy  thoughts,  the  gathering  frenzy,  that  shook  me  as  I 
went,  and  which,  perhaps,  were  increased  by  my  walk.  I 
gloated  in  an  infernal  fashion  which  I  cannot  describe  over 
the  absolute  completeness  of  my  wretchedness.  I  would  have 
drawn  from  it  an  augury  of  my  future,  but  there  is  no  limit 
to  the  possibilities  of  misfortune.  The  door  of  my  lodging- 
house  stood  ajar.  A  light  streamed  from  the  heart-shaped 
opening  cut  in  the  shutters.  Pauline  and  her  mother  were 
sitting  up  for  me  and  talking.  I  heard  my  name  spoken,  and 
listened. 

"  'Eaphael  is  much  nicer-looking  than  the  student  in 
number  seven,'  said  Pauline;  Tiis  fair  hair  is  such  a  pretty 
color.  Don't  you  think  there  is  something  in  his  voice,  too, 
I  don't  know  what  it  is,  that  gives  you  a  sort  of  thrill  ?  And, 
then,  though  he  may  be  a  little  proud,  he  is  very  kind,  and  he 
has  such  fine  manners ;  I  am  sure  that  all  the  ladies  must  be 
quite  wild  about  him.' 

"  'You  might  be  fond  of  him  yourself,  to  hear  you  talk/ 
was  Madame  Gaudin's  comment. 

"  'He  is  just  as  dear  to  me  as  a  brother,'  she  laughed.  1 
should  be  finely  ungrateful  if  I  felt  no  friendship  for  him. 
Didn't  he  teach  me  music  and  drawing  and  grammar,  and 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  113 

everything  I  know  in  fact?  You  don't  much  notice  how  I 
get  on,  dear  mother ;  but  I  shall  know  enough,  in  a  while,  to 
give  lessons  myself,  and  then  we  can  keep  a  servant/ 

"I  stole  away  softly,  made  some  noise  outside,  and  went 
into  their  room  to  take  the  lamp,  that  Pauline  tried  to  light 
for  me.  The  dear  child  had  just  poured  soothing  balm  into 
my  wounds.  Her  outspoken  admiration  had  given  me  fresh 
courage.  I  so  needed  to  believe  in  myself  and  to  come  by  a 
just  estimate  of  my  advantages.  This  revival  of  hope  in  me 
perhaps  colored  my  surroundings.  Perhaps  also  I  had  never 
before  really  looked  at  the  picture  that  so  often  met  my  eyes, 
of  the  two  women  in  their  room;  it  was  a  scene  such  as 
Flemish  painters  have  reproduced  so  faithfully  for  us,  that 
I  admired  in  its  delightful  reality.  The  mother,  with  the 
kind  smile  upon  her  lips,  sat  knitting  stockings  by  the  dying 
fire;  Pauline  was  painting  hand-screens,  her  brushes  and 
paints,  strewn  over  the  tiny  table,  made  bright  spots  of  color 
for  the  e5-e  to  dwell  on.  When  she  had  left  her  seat  and 
stood  lighting  my  lamp,  one  must  have  been  under  the  yoke 

•  of  a  terrible  passion  indeed,  not  to  admire  her  faintly  flushed 
transparent  hands,  the  girlish  charm  of  her  attitude,  the 
ideal  grace  of  her  head,  as  the  lamplight  fell  full  on  her  pale 
face.  ISTight  and  silence  added  to  the  charms  of  this  in- 
dustrious vigil  and  peaceful  interior.  The  light-heartedness 
that  sustained  such  continuous  toil  could  only  spring  from 
devout  submission  and  the  lofty  feelings  that  it  brings. 

"There  was  an  indescribable  harmony  between  them  and 
their  possessions.  The  splendor  of  Foedora's  home  did  not 
satisfy;  it  called  out  all  my  worst  instincts;  something  in 
this  lowly  poverty  and  unfeigned  goodness  revived  me.  It 
may  have  been  that  luxury  abased  me  in  my  own  eyes,  while 
here  my  self-respect  was  restored  to  me,  as  I  sought  to  ex- 
tend the  protection  that  a  man  is  so  eager  to  make  felt,  over 
these  two  women,  who  in  the  bare  simplicity  of  the  existence 
in  their  brown  room  seemed  to  live  wholly  in  the  feelings  of 
their  hearts.     As  I  came  up  to  Pauline,  she  looked  at  me  in 

'  an  almost  motherly  way ;  her  hands  shook  a  little  as  she  held 
the  lamp,  so  that  the  light  fell  on  me,  and  cried : 


116  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"  'Dieu !  how  pale  you  are !  and  you  are  wet  through !  My 
mother  will  try  to  wipe  you  dry.  Monsieur  Eaphael/  she  went 
on,  after  a  little  pause,  *you  are  so  very  fond  of  milk,  and  to- 
night we  happen  to  have  some  cream.  Here,  will  you  not 
take  some  ?' 

"She  pounced  like  a  kitten,  on  a  china  bowl  full  of  milk. 
She  did  it  so  quickly,  and  put  it  before  me  so  prettily,  that 
I  hesitated. 

"  'You  are  going  to  refuse  me  ?'  she  said,  and  her  tones 
changed. 

"The  pride  in  each  felt  for  the  other's  pride.  It  was 
Pauline's  poverty  that  seemed  to  humiliate  her,  and  to  re- 
proach me  with  my  want  of  consideration,  and  I  melted  at  once 
and  accepted  the  cream  that  might  have  been  meant  for  her 
morning's  breakfast.  The  poor  child  tried  not  to  show  her 
joy,  but  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"  'I  needed  it  badly,'  I  said  as  I  sat  down.  (An  anxious 
look  passed  over  her  face.)  T)o  you  remember  that  passage, 
Pauline,  where  Bossuet  tells  how  God  gave  more  abundant 
reward  for  a  cup  of  cold  water  than  for  a  victory?' 

"  'Yes,'  she  said,  her  heart  beating  like  some  wild  bird's  in 
a  child's  hands. 

"  'Well,  as  we  shall  part  very  soon,  now,'  I  went  on  in  an 
unsteady  voice,  'you  must  let  me  show  my  gratitude  to 
you  and  to  your  mother  for  all  the  care  you  have  taken  of 
me.' 

"  'Oh,  don't  let  us  cast  accounts,'  she  said,  laughing.    But,< 
her  laughter  covered  an  agitation  that  gave  me  pain.     I  went 
on  without  appearing  to  hear  her  words : 

"  'My  piano  is  one  of  Erard's  best  instruments ;  and  you 
must  take  it.  Pray  accept  it  without  hesitation;  I  really 
could  not  take  it  with  me  on  the  journey  I  am  about  to 
make.' 

"Perhaps  tne  melancholy  tones  in  which  I  spoke  en- 
lightened the  hvo  women,  for  they  seemed  to  understand,  and 
eyed  me  with  curiosity  and  alarm.  Here  was  the  affection 
"that  I  had  looked  for  in  the  glacial  regions  of  the  great 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  117 

world,  true  affection,  unostentatious  but  tender,  and  possibly 
lasting. 

"  'Don't  take  it  to  heart  so,'  the  mother  said ;  'stay  on  here. 
My  husband  is  on  his  way  towards  us  even  now,'  she  went  on. 
1  looked  into  the  Gospel  of  St.  John  this  evening  while 
Pauline  hung  our  door-key  in  a  Bible  from  her  fingers.  The 
key  turned ;  that  means  that  Gaudin  is  in  health  and  doing 
well.  Pauline  began  again  for  you  and  for  the  young  man  in 
number  seven — it  turned  for  you,  but  not  for  him.  We  are 
all  going  to  be  rich.  Gaudin  will  come  back  a  millionaire. 
I  dreamed  once  that  I  saw  him  in  a  ship  full  of  serpents; 
luckily  the  water  was  rough,  and  that  means  gold  or  precious 
stones  from  over-sea.' 

"The  silly,  friendly  words  were  like  the  crooning  lullaby 
with  which  a  mother  soothes  her  sick  child ;  they  in  a  manner 
calmed  me.  There  was  a  pleasant  heartiness  in  the  worthy 
woman's  looks  and  tones,  which,  if  it  could  not  remove 
trouble,  at  any  rate  soothed  and  quieted  it,  and  deadened  the 
pain.  Pauline,  keener-sighted  than  her  mother,  studied  me 
uneasily;  her  quick  eyes  seemed  to  read  my  life  and  my 
future.  I  thanked  the  mother  and  daughter  by  an  inclina- 
tion of  the  head,  and  hurried  away;  I  was  afraid  I  should 
break  down. 

"I  found  myself  alone  under  my  roof,  and  laid  myself 
down  in  my  misery.  My  unhappy  imagination  suggested 
numberless  baseless  projects,  and  prescribed  impossible  reso- 
lutions. When  a  man  is  struggling  in  the  wreck  of  his 
fortunes,  he  is  not  quite  without  resources,  but  I  was  engulfed. 
Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  we  are  too  ready  to  blame  the  wretched. 
Let  us  be  less  harsh  on  the  results  of  the  most  powerful  of 
all  social  solvents.  Where  poverty  is  absolute  there  exist  no 
such  things  as  shame  or  crime,  or  virtue  or  intelligence.  I 
knew  not  what  to  do ;  I  was  as  defenceless  as  a  maiden  on  her 
knees  before  a  beast  of  prey.  A  penniless  man  who  has  no 
ties  to  bind  him  is  master  of  himself  at  any  rate,  but  a 
luckless  wretch  who  is  in  love  no  longer  belongs  to  himself, 
and  may  not  take  his  own  life.     Love  makes  us  almost  sacred 


118  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

in  our  own  eyes ;  it  is  the  life  of  another  that  we  revere  within 
us;  then  and  so  begins  for  us  the  cruelest  trouble  of  all — 
the  misery  with  a  hope  in  it,  a  hope  for  which  we  must  even 
bear  our  torments.  I  thought  I  would  go  to  Eastignac  on 
the  morrow  to  confide  Fcedora's  strange  resolution  to  him, 
and  with  that  I  slept. 

"  'Ah,  ha !'  cried  Eastignac,  as  he  saw  me  enter  his  lodging 
at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  'I  know  what  brings  you 
here.  Foedora  has  dismissed  you.  Some  kind  souls,  who 
were  jealous  of  your  ascendency  over  the  countess,  gave  out 
that  you  were  going  to  be  married.  Heaven  only  knows 
what  follies  your  rivals  have  equipped  you  with,  and  what 
slanders  have  been  directed  at  you.' 

"  'That  explains  everything !'  I  exclaimed.  I  remembered 
all  my  presumptuous  speeches,  and  gave  the  countess  credit 
for  no  little  magnanimity.  It  pleased  me  to  think  that  I 
was  a  miscreant  who  had  not  been  punished  nearly  enough, 
and  I  saw  nothing  in  her  indulgence  but  the  long-suffering 
charity  of  love. 

"'Not  quite  so  fast,'  urged  the  prudent  Gascon;  'Fcedora 
has  all  the  sagacity  natural  to  a  profoundly  selfish  woman; 
perhaps  she  may  have  taken  your  measure  while  you  still 
coveted  only  her  money  and  her  splendor;  in  spite  of  all  your 
care,  she  could  have  read  you  through  and  through.  She 
can  dissemble  far  too  well  to  let  any  dissimulation  pass  un- 
detected. I  fear,'  he  went  on,  'that  I  have  brought  you  into 
a  bad  way.  In  spite  of  her  cleverness  and  her  tact,  she  seems 
to  me  a  domineering  sort  of  person,  like  every  woman  who 
can  only  feel  pleasure  through  her  brain.  Happiness  for 
her  lies  entirely  in  a  comfortable  life  and  in  social  pleasures ; 
her  sentiment  is  only  assumed;  she  will  make  you  miserable; 
you  will  be  her  head  footman.' 

"He  spoke  to  the  deaf.  I  broke  in  upon  him,  disclos- 
ing, with  an  affectation  of  light-heartedness,  the  state  of  my 
finances. 

"'Yesterday  evening,'  he  rejoined,  luck  ran  against  rae, 
and  that  carried  off  all  my  available  cash.     But  for  that 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         119 

trivial  mishap,  I  would  gladly  have  shared  my  purse  with 
you.  But  let  us  go  and  breakfast  at  the  restaurant ;  perhaps 
there  is  good  counsel  in  oysters/ 

"He  dressed,  and  had  his  tilbury  brought  round.  We 
went  to  the  Cafe  de  Paris  like  a  couple  of  millionaires,  armed 
with  all  the  audacious  impertinence  of  the  speculator  whose 
capital  is  imaginary.  That  devil  of  a  Gascon  quite  discon- 
certed me  by  the  coolness  of  hi&  manners  and  his  absolute 
self-possession.  While  we  were  taking  coffee  after  an  ex- 
cellent and  well-ordered  repast,  a  young  dandy  entered,  who 
did  not  escape  Eastignac.  He  had  been  nodding  here  and 
there  among  the  crowd  to  this  or  that  young  man,  dis- 
tinguished both  by  personal  attractions  and  elegant  attire, 
and  now  he  said  to  me : 

"'Here's  your  man,'  as  he  beckoned  to  this  gentleman 
with  a  wonderful  cravat,  who  seemed  to  be  looking  for  a  table 
that  suited  his  ideas. 

"  'That  rogue  has  been  decorated  for  bringing  out  books 
that  he  doesn't  .understand  a  word  of,'  whispered  Eastignac ; 
*he  is  a  chemist,  a  historian,  a  novelist,  and  a  political  writer ; 
he  has  gone  halves,  thirds,  or  quarters  in  the  author-ship  of  I 
don't  know  how  many  plays,  and  he  is  as  ignoraiit  as  Dom 
Miguel's  mule.  He  is  not  a  man  so  much  as  a  name,  a  label  that 
the  public  is  familiar  with.  So  he  would  do  well  to  avoid 
shops  inscribed  with  the  motto,  "lei  Von  peut  ecrire  soi-meme.'* 
He  is  acute  enough  to  deceive  an  entire  congress  of  diplo- 
matists. In  a  couple  of  words,  he  is  a  moral  half-caste,  not 
quite  a  fraud,  nor  entirely  genuine.  But,  hush !  he  has  suc- 
ceeded already ;  nobody  asks  anything  further,  and  every  one 
calls  him  an  illustrious  man.' 

"  'Well,  my  esteemed  and  excellent  friend,  and  how  may 
Your  Intelligence  be  ?'  So  Eastignac  addressed  the  stranger 
as  he  sat  down  at  a  neighboring  table. 

"'Neither  well  nor  ill;  I  am  overwhelmed  with  work.  I 
have  all  the  necessary  materials  for  some  very  curious  his- 
torical memoirs  in  my  hands,  and  I  cannot  find  any  one 


120  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

to  whom  I  can  ascribe  them.     It  worries  me,  for  I  shall  have 
to  be  quick  about  it.     Memoirs  are  falling  out  of  fashion.' 

**  ^hat  are  the  memoirs — contemporaneous,  ancient,  or 
memoirs  of  the  court,  or  what  ?' 

"  'They  relate  to  the  Necklace  affair.' 

"  'Now,  isn't  that  a  coincidence  ?'  said  Rastignac,  turning  to 
me  and  laughing.  He  looked  again  to  the  literary  specula- 
tion, and  said,  indicating  me: 

"  'This  is  M.  de  Valentin,  one  of  my  friends,  whom  I, 
must  introduce  to  you  as  one  of  our  future  literary  celebrities. 
He  had  formerly  an  aunt,  a  marquise,  much  in  favor  once  at 
court,  and  for  about  two  years  he  has  been  writing  a  Royalist 
history  of  the  Revolution.' 

"Then,  bending  over  this  singular  man.  of  business,  he 
went  on: 

"  'He  is  a  man  of  talent,  and  a  simpleton  that  will  do 
your  memoirs  for  you,  in  his  aunt's  name,  for  a  hundred 
crowns  a  volume.' 

"  'It's  a  bargain,'  said  the  other,  adjusting  his  cravat. 
'Waiter,  my  oysters.' 

"  "^Yes,  but  you  must  give  me  twenty-five  louis  as  com- 
mission, and  you  will  pay  him  in  advance  for  each  volume,' 
said  Rastignac. 

"'No,  no.  He  shall  only  have  fifty  crowns  on  account, 
and  then  I  shall  be  sure  of  having  my  manuscript  punc- 
tually.' 

"Rastignac  repeated  this  business  conversation  to  me  in 
low  tones;  and  then,  without  giving  me  any  voice  in  the 
matter,  he  replied: 

"  'We  agree  to  your  proposal.  When  can  we  call  upon  yon 
to  arrange  the  affair?' 

"  'Oh,  well !  Come  and  dine  here  to-morrow  at  seven 
o'clock.' 

"We  rose.     Rastignac  flung  some  money  to  the  waiter, 
put  the  bill  in  his  pocket,  and  we  went  out.     I  was  quite 
stupefied  by  the  flippancy  and  ease  with  which  he  had  sold  my; 
venerable  aunt,  la  Marquise  de  Montbauron. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         121 

''T:  would  sooner  take  ship  for  the  Brazils,  and  gi?e  the 
Indians  lessons  in  algebra,  though  I  don't  know  a  word  of  it, 
than  tarnish  my  family  name.' 

"Rastignac  burst  out  laugliing. 

"  '^How  dense  you  are !  Take  the  fifty  crowns  in  the  first 
instance,  and  write  the  memoirs.  When  you  have  finished 
them,  you  will  decline  to  publish  them  in  your  aunt's  name, 
imbecile!  Madame  de  Montbauron,  with  her  hooped  petti- 
coat, her  rank  and  beauty,  rouge  and  slippers,  and  her  death 
upon  the  scaffold,  is  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  six  hundred 
francs.  And  then,  if  the  trade  will  not  give  your  aunt  her 
due,  some  old  adventurer,  or  some  shady  countess  or  other, 
will  be  found  to  put  her  name  to  the  memoirs.' 

"'Oh,'  I  groaned;  Vhy  did  I  quit  the  blameless  life  in 
my  garret  ?  This  world  has  aspects  that  are  very  vilely  dis- 
honorable.' 

"  'Yes,'  said  Eastignac,  'that  is  all  very  poetical,  but  this 
is  a  matter  of  business.  What  a  child  you  are !  Now,  listen 
to  me.  As  to  your  work,  the  public  will  decide  upon  it ;  and 
as  for  my  literary  middle-man,  hasn't  he  devoted  eight  years 
of  his  life  to  obtaining  a  footing  in  the  book-trade,  and 
paid  heavily  for  his  experience  ?  You  divide  the  money  and 
the  labor  of  the  book  with  him  very  unequally,  but  isn't  yours 
the  better  part  ?  Twent3^-five  louis  means  as  much  to  you  as 
a  thousand  francs  does  to  him.  Come,  you  can  write  historical 
memoirs,  a  work  of  art  such  as  never  was,  since  Diderot  once 
wrote  six  sermons  for  a  hundred  crowns !" 

"  'After  all,'  I  said,  in  agitation,  'I  cannot  choose  but  do  it. 
So,  my  dear  friend,  my  thanks  are  due  to  you.  I  shall  be 
quite  rich  with  twenty-five  louis.' 

"  'Richer  than  you  think,'  he  laughed.  'If  I  have  my 
commission  from  Finot  in  this  matter,  it  goes  to  you,  can't 
you  see?  Now  let  us  go  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,'  he  said; 
*we  shall  see  your  countess  there,  and  I  will  show  you  the 
pretty  little  widow  that  I  am  to  marry — a  charming  woman, 
an  Alsacienne,  rather  plump.  She  reads  Kant,  Schiller, 
Jean  Paul,  and  a  host  of  lachrymose  books.       She  has  a 


122  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

mania  for  continually  asking  my  opinion,  and  I  have  to  look 
as  if  I  entered  into  all  this  German  sensibility,  and  to  know 
a  pack  of  ballads — drugs,  all  of  them,  that  my  doctor  ab- 
solutely prohibits.  As  yet  I  have  not  been  able  to  wean  her 
from  her  literary  enthusiasms ;  she  sheds  torrents  of  tears  as 
she  reads  Goethe,  and  I  have  to  weep  a  little  myself  to  please 
her,  for  she  has  an  income  of  fifty  thousand  livres,  my  dear 
boy,  and  the  prettiest  little  hand  and  foot  in  the  world.  Oh, 
if  she  would  only  say  mon  ange  and  hrouiller  instead  of  mon 
anche  and  prouiller,  she  would  be  perfection !' 

^^e  saw  the  countess,  radiant  amid  the  splendors  of  her 
equipage.  The  coquette  bowed  very  graciously  to  us  both, 
and  the  smile  she  gave  me  seemed  to  me  to  be  divine  and 
full  of  love.  I  was  very  happy;  I  fancied  myself  beloved; 
I  had  money,  a  wealth  of  love  in  my  heart,  and  my  troubles 
were  over.  I  was  light-hearted,  blithe,  and  content.  I  found 
my  friend's  lady-love  charming.  Earth  and  air  and  heaven 
— all  nature — seemed  to  reflect  Foedora's  smile  for  me. 

"As  we  returned  through  the  Champs-Elysees,  we  paid  a 
visit  to  Eastignac's  hatter  and  tailor.  Thanks  to  the  ^Neck- 
lace,' my  insignificant  peace-footing  was  to  end,  and  I  made 
formidable  preparations  for  a  campaign.  Henceforward  I 
need  not  shrink  from  a  contest  with  the  spruce  and  fashion- 
able young  men  who  made  Foedora's  circle.  I  went  home, 
locked  myself  in,  and  stood  by  my  dormer  window,  out- 
wardly calm  enough,  but  in  reality  I  bade  a  last  good-bye 
to  the  roofs  without.  I  began  to  live  in  the  future,  rehearsed 
my  life  drama,  and  discounted  love  and  its  happiness.  Ah, 
how  stormy  life  can  grow  to  be  within  the  four  walls  of  a 
garret  J  The  soul  within  us  is  like  a  fairy;  she  turns  straw 
into  diamonds  for  us;  and  for  us,  at  a  touch  of  her  wand, 
enchanted  palaces  arise,  as  flowers  in  the  meadows  spring  up 
towards  the  sun. 

"Towards  noon,  next  day,  Pauline  knocked  gently  at  my 
door,  and  brought  me — who  could  guess  it? — a  note  from 
Foedora.  The  countess  asked  me  to  take  her  to  the  Luxem- 
bourg, and  to  go  thence  to  see  with  her  the  Museum  and 
Jardin  des  Plantes. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEAKT  123 

**The  man  is  waiting  for  an  answer/  said  Pauline,  after 
qnietly  waiting  for  a  moment. 

"I  hastil}^  scrawled  my  acknowledgments,  and  Pauline  took 
the  note.  I  changed  my  dress.  When  my  toilette  was  ended, 
and  I  looked  at  myself  with  some  complaisance,  an  icy  shiver 
ran  through  me  as  I  thought : 

"  ^Vill  Foedora  walk  or  drive  ?  Will  it  rain  or  shine  ? — No 
matter,  though/  I  said  to  myself;  'whichever  it  is,  can  one 
ever  reckon  with  feminine  caprice?  She  will  have  no  money 
about  her,  and  will  want  to  give  a  dozen  francs  to  some  little 
Savoj^ard  because  his  rags  are  picturesque.^ 

"I  had  not  a  brass  farthing,  and  should  have  no  money  till 
the  evening  came.  How  dearly  a  poet  pays  for  the  intel- 
lectual prowess  that  method  and  toil  have  brought  him,  at 
such  crises  of  our  youth !  Innumerable  painfully  vivid 
thoughts  pierced  me  like  barbs.  I  looked  out  of  my  window ; 
the  weather  was  very  unsettled.  If  things  fell  out  badly,  I 
might  easily  hire  a  cab  for  the  day;  but  would  not  the  fear 
lie  on  me  every  moment  that  I  might  not  meet  Finot  in  the 
evening?  I  felt  too  weak  to  endure  such  fears  in  the  midst 
of  my  felicity.  Though  I  felt  sure  that  I  should  find  nothing, 
I  began  a  grand  search  through  my  room ;  I  looked  for  imag- 
inary coins  in  the  recesses  of  my  mattress;  I  hunted  about 
everywhere — I  even  shook  out  my  old  boots.  A  nervous  fever 
seized  me;  I  looked  with  wild  eyes  at  the  furniture  when  I 
had  ransacked  it  all.  Will  you  understand,  I  wonder,  the 
excitement  that  possessed  me  when,  plunged  deep  in  the  list- 
lessness  of  despair,  I  opened  my  writing-table  drawer,  and 
found  a  fair  and  splendid  ten-franc  piece  that  shone  like  a 
rising  star,  new  and  sparkling,  and  slily  hiding  in  a  cranny 
between  two  boards  ?  I  did  not  try  to  account  for  its  previous 
reserve  and  the  cruelty  of  which  it  had  been  guilty  in  thus 
lying  hidden;  I  kissed  it  for  a  friend  faithful  in  adversity, 
and  hailed  it  with  a  cry  that  found  an  echo,  and  made  me 
turn  sharply,  to  find  Pauline  with  a  face  grown  white. 

"  'I  thought/  she  faltered,  'that  you  had  hurt  yourself ! 
The  man  who  brought  the  letter '  (she  broke  off  as  if 


124  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

something  smothered  her  voice).  ^ut  mother  has  paid 
him/  she  added,  and  flitted  away  like  a  wayward,  capricious 
child.  Poor  little  one  !  I  wanted  her  to  share  my  happiness. 
I  seemed  to  have  all  the  happiness  in  the  world  within  me  just 
then ;  and  I  would  fain  have  returned  to  the  unhappy,  all  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  stolen  from  them. 

"The  intuitive  perception  of  adversity  is  sound  for  the 
most  part ;  the  countess  had  sent  away  her  carriage.  One  of 
those  freaks  that  pretty  women  can  scarcely  explain  to  them-| 
selves  had  determined  her  to  go  on  foot,  by  way  of  the  boule- 
vards, to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 

"  ^t  will  rain,'  I  told  her,  and  it  pleased  her  to  contradict 
me. 

"As  it  fell  out,  the  weather  was  fine  while  we  went  through 
the  Luxembourg;  when  we  came  out,  some  drops  fell  from 
a  great  cloud,  whose  progress  I  had  watched  uneasily,  and  we 
took  a  cab.  At  the  Museum  I  was  about  to  dismiss  the 
vehicle,  and  Fcedora  (what  agonies!)  asked  me  not  to  do  so. 
But  it  was  like  a  dream  in  broad  daylight  for  me,  to  chat  with 
her,  to  wander  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  to  stray  down  the 
shady  alleys,  to  feel  her  hand  upon  my  arm ;  the  secret  trans- 
ports repressed  in  me  were  reduced,  no  doubt,  to  a  fixed  and 
foolish  smile  upon  my  lips ;  there  was  something  unreal  about 
it  all.  Yet  in  all  her  movements,  however  alluring,  whether 
we  stood  or  whether  we  walked,  there  was  nothing  either 
tender  or  lover-like.  When  I  tried  to  share  in  a  measure  the 
action  of  movement  prompted  by  her  life,  I  became  aware  of 
a  check,  or  of  something  strange  in  her  that  I  cannot  explain, 
of  an  inner  activity  concealed  in  her  nature.  There  is  no 
suavity  about  the  movements  of  women  who  have  no  soul  in 
them.  Our  wills  were  opposed,  and  we  did  not  keep  step 
together.  Words  are  wanting  to  describe  this  outward  dis- 
sonance between  two  beings;  we  are  not  accustomed  to  read 
a  thought  in  a  movement.  We  instinctively  feel  this 
phenomenon  of  our  nature,  but  it  cannot  be  expressed. 

"I  did  not  dissect  my  sensations  during  those  violent 
seizures  of  passion,"  Raphael  went  on,  after  a  moment  of 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         125 

silence,  as  if  lie  were  replying  to  an  objection  raised  by  him- 
self. "I  did  not  analyze  my  pleasures  nor  count  my  heart- 
beats then,  as  a  miser  scrutinizes  and  weighs  his  gold  pieces. 
No;  experience  sheds  its  melancholy  light  over  the  events  of 
the  past  to-day,  and  memory  brings  these  pictures  back,  as 
the  sea- waves  in  fair  weather  cast  up  fragment  after  fragment 
of  the  debris  of  a  wrecked  vessel  upon  the  strand. 

"'It  is  in  your  power  to  render  me  a  rather  important 
service,'  said  the  countess,  looking  at  me  in  an  embarrassed; 
way.  'After  confiding  to  you  my  aversion  for  lovers,  I  feel 
myself  more  at  liberty  to  entreat  your  good  offices  in  the  name 
of  friendship.  Will  there  not  be  very  much  more  merit  in 
obliging  me  to-day?'  she  asked,  laughing. 

"I  looked  at  her  in  anguish.  Her  manner  was  coaxing, 
but  in  no  wise  affectionate;  she  felt  nothing  for  me;  she 
seemed  to  be  playing  a  part,  and  I  thought  her  a  consum- 
mate actress.  Then  all  at  once  my  hopes  awoke  once  more, 
at  a  single  look  and  word.  Yet  if  reviving  love  expressed 
itself  in  my  eyes,  she  bore  its  light  without  any  change  in 
the  clearness  of  her  own;  they  seemed,  like  a  tiger's  eyes, 
to  have  a  sheet  of  metal  beliind  them.  I  used  to  hate  her  in 
such  moments. 

"  'The  influence  of  the  Due  de  ISTavarreins  would  be  very 
useful  to  me,  with  an  all-powerful  person  in  Eussia,'  she  went 
on,  persuasion  in  every  modulation  of  her  voice,  'whose  in- 
tervention I  need  in  order  to  have  justice  done  me  in  a  matter 
the  concerns  both  my  fortune  and  my  position  in  the  world,' 
that  is  to  say,  the  recognition  of  my  marriage  by  the  Emperor. 
Is  not  the  Due  de  Navarreins  a  cousin  of  yours?  A  letter 
from  him  would  settle  everything.' 

'I  am  yours,'  I  answered;  'command  me.' 
Tou  are  very  nice,'  she  said,  pressing  my  hand.     'Come 
end  have  dinner  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  everything,  as 
if  you  were  my  confessor.' 

"So  this  discreet,  suspicious  woman,  who  had  never  been 
heard  to  speak  a  word  about  her  affairs  to  any  one,  was  going 
to  consult  me. 


126  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"'Oh,  how  dear  to  me  is  this  silence  that  you  have  im- 
posed on  me!'  I  cried;  Haut  I  would  rather  have  had  some 
sharper  ordeal  still/  And  she  smiled  upon  the  intoxication 
in  my  eyes;  she  did  not  reject  my  admiration  in  any  way; 
surely  she  loved  me ! 

"Fortunate^,  my  purse  held  just  enough  to  satisfy  her  cab- 
man. The  day  spent  in  her  house,  alone  with  her,  was 
delicious;  it  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  seen  her  in  this 
way.  Hitherto  we  had  always  been  kept  apart  by  the  pres- 
ence of  others,  and  by  her  formal  politeness  and  reserved 
manners,  even  during  her  magnificent  dinners;  but  now  it 
was  as  if  I  lived  beneath  her  own  roof — I  had  her  all  to  my- 
self, so  to  speak.  My  wandering  fancy  broke  down  barriers, 
arranged  the  events  of  life  to  my  liking,  and  steeped  me  in 
happiness  and  love.  I  seemed  to  myself  her  husband,  I  liked 
to  watch  her  busied  with  little  details;  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
me  even  to  see  her  take  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl.  She  left 
me  alone  for  a  little,  and  came  back,  charming,  with  her  hair 
newly  arranged;  and  this  dainty  change  of  toilette  had  been 
made  for  me ! 

"During  the  dinner  she  lavished  attention  upon  me,  and 
put  charm  without  end  into  those  numberless  trifles  to  all 
seeming,  that  make  up  half  of  our  existence  nevertheless.  As 
we  sat  together  before  a  crackling  fire,  on  silken  cushions 
surrounded  by  the  most  desirable  creations  of  Oriental 
luxury;  as  I  saw  this  woman  whose  famous  beauty  made 
every  heart  beat,  so  close  to  me;  an  unapproachable  woman 
who  was  talking  and  bringing  all  her  powers  of  coquetry  to 
bear  upon  me;  then  my  blissful  pleasure  rose  almost  to  the 
point  of  suffering.  To  my  vexation,  I  recollected  the  important 
business  to  be  concluded;  I  determined  to  go  to  keep  the 
appointment  made  for  me  for  this  evening. 

"'So  soon?'  she  said,  seeing  me  take  my  hat. 

"She  loved  me,  then!  or  I  thought  so  at  least,  from  the 
bland  tones  in  which  those  two  words  were  uttered.  I  would 
then  have  bartered  a  couple  of  years  of  life  for  every  hour 
she  chose  to  grant  to  me,  and  so  prolong  my  ecstasy.       My 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  127 

happiness  was  increased  by  the  extent  of  the  money  I 
sacrificed.  It  was  midnight  before  she  dismissed  me.  But 
on  the  morrow,  for  all  that,  my  heroism  cost  me  a  good  many 
remorseful  pangs;  I  was  afraid  the  affair  of  the  Memoirs, 
now  of  such  importance  for  me,  might  have  fallen  through, 
and  rushed  off  to  Rastignac.  We  found  the  nominal  author 
of  my  future  labors  just  getting  up. 

"Finot  read  over  a  brief  agreement  to  me,  in  which  nothing 
whatever  was  said  about  my  aunt,  and  when  it  had  been 
signed  he  paid  me  down  fifty  crowns,  and  the  three  of  us 
breakfasted  together.  I  had  only  thirty  francs  left  over, 
when  I  had  paid  for  my  new  hat,  for  sixty  tickets  at  thirty 
sous  each,  and  settled  my  debts;  but  for  some  days  to  come 
the  difficulties  of  living  were  removed.  If  I  had  but  listened 
to  Eastignac,  I  might  have  had  abundance  by  frankly  adopt- 
ing the  'English  system.-*  He  really  wanted  to  establish  my 
credit  by  setting  me  to  raise  loans,  on  the  theory  that  bor- 
rowing is  the  basis  of  credit.  To  hear  him  talk,  the  future 
was  the  largest  and  most  secure  kind  of  capital  in  the  world. 
My  future  luck  was  hypothecated  for  the  benefit  of  my 
creditors,  and  he  gave  my  custom  to  his  tailor,  an  artist,  and 
a  young  man's  tailor,  who  was  to  leave  me  in  peace  until  I 
married. 

"The  monastic  life  of  study  that  I  had  led  for  three  years 
past  ended  on  this  day.  I  frequented  Foedora's  house  very 
diligently,  and  tried  to  outshine  the  heroes  or  the  swaggerers  to 
be  found  in  her  circle.  When  I  believed  that  I  had  left 
poverty  for  ever  behind  me,  I  regained  my  freedom  of  mind, 
humiliated  my  rivals,  and  was  looked  upon  as  a  very  attractive, 
dazzling,  and  irresistible  sort  of  man.  But  acute  folk  used  to 
say  with  regard  to  me,  *A  fellow  as  clever  as  that  will  keep 
all  his  enthusiasms  in  his  brain,'  and  charitably  extolled  my 
faculties  at  the  expense  of  my  feelings.  'Isn't  he  lucky,  not 
to  be  in  love !'  they  exclaimed.  'If  he  were,  could  he  be  so 
light-hearted  and  animated?'  Yet  in  Foedora's  presence  I 
was  as  dull  as  love  could  make  me.  When  I  was  alone  with 
her,  I  had  not  a  word  to  say,  or  if  I  did  speak,  I  renounced 


128  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

love;  and  T  affected  gaiety  but  ill,  like  a  courtier  who  has  a 
bitter  mortification  to  hide.  I  tried  in  every  way  to  make  my- 
self indispensable  in  her  life,  and  necessary  to  her  vanity 
and  to  her  comfort;  I  was  a  plaything  at  her  pleasure,  a  slave 
always  at  her  side.  And  when  I  had  frittered  away  the  day 
in  this  way,  I  went  back  to  my  work  at  night,  securing  merely 
two  or  three  hours'  sleep  in  the  early  morning.  ! 

"But  I  had  not,  like  Eastignac,  the  'English  system'  at  my 
finger-ends,  and  I  very  soon  saw  myself  without  a  penny. 
I  fell  at  once  into  that  precarious  way  of  life  which  in- 
dustriously hides  cold  and  miserable  depths  beneath  an 
elusive  surface  of  luxury;  I  was  a  coxcomb  without  conquests, 
a  penniless  fop,  a  nameless  gallant.  The  old  sufferings  were 
renewed,  but  less  sharply ;  no  doubt  I  was  growing  used  to  the 
painful  crisis.  Very  often  my  sole  diet  consisted  of  the 
scanty  provision  of  cakes  and  tea  that  is  offered  in  drawing- 
rooms,  or  one  of  the  countess'  great  dinners  must  sustain  me 
for  two  whole  days.  I  used  all  my  time,  and  exerted  every 
effort  and  all  my  powers  of  observation,  to  penetrate  the 
impenetrable  character  of  Foedora.  Alternate  hope  and 
despair  had  swayed  my  opinions;  for  me  she  was  sometimes 
the  tenderest,  sometimes  the  most  unfeeling  of  women.  But 
these  transitions  from  joy  to  sadness  became  unendurable;  I 
sought  to  end  the  horrible  conflict  within  me  by  extinguish- 
ing love.  By  the  light  of  warning  gleams  my  soul  sometimes 
recognized  the  gulfs  that  lay  between  us.  The  countess  con- 
firmed all  my  fears ;  I  had  never  yet  detected  any  tear  in  her 
eyes;  an  affecting  scene  in  a  play  left  her  smiling  and  un- 
moved. All  her  instincts  were  selfish;  she  could  not  divine 
another's  joy  or  sorrow.  She  had  made  a  fool  of  me,  in 
fact! 

"I  had  rejoiced  over  a  sacrifice  to  make  for  her,  and  al- 
most humiliated  myself  in  seeking  out  my  kinsman,  the  Due 
de  Navarreins,  a  selfish  man  who  was  ashamed  of  my  poverty, 
and  had  injured  me  too  deeply  not  to  hate  me.  He  received 
me  with  the  polite  coldness  that  makes  every  word  and 
gesture  seem  an  insult;  he  looked  so  ili  at  ease  that  I  pitied 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         129 

him.  I  blushed  for  this  pettiness  amid  grandeur,  and 
penuriousness  surrounded  by  luxury.  He  began  to  talk  to 
me  of  his  heavy  losses  in  the  three  per  cents,  and  then  I  told 
him  the  object  of  my  visit.  The  change  in  his  manners, 
hitherto  glacial,  which  now  gradually  became  affectionate, 
disgusted  me. 

"Well,  he  called  upon  the  countess,  and  completely  eclipsed 
me  with  her.  ' 

"On  him  Foedora  exercised  spells  and  witcheries  unheard 
of;  she  drew  him  into  her  power,  and  arranged  her  whole 
mysterious  business  with  him;  I  was  left  out,  I  heard  not 
a  word  of  it ;  she  had  made  a  tool  of  me  !  She  did  not  seem 
to  be  aware  of  my  existence  while  my  cousin  was  present ;  she 
received  me  less  cordially  perhaps  than  when  I  was  first  pre- 
sented to  her.  One  evening  she  chose  to  mortify  me  before 
the  duke  by  a  look,  a  gesture,  that  it  is  useless  to  try  to  ex- 
press in  words.  I  went  away  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  planning 
ierrible  and  outrageous  schemes  of  vengeance  vrithout  end. 

"I  often  used  to  go  with  her  to  the  theatre.  Love  utterly 
absorbed  me  as  I  sat  beside  her;  as  I  looked  at  her  I  used 
to  give  myself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  the  music, 
putting  all  my  soul  into  the  double  joy  of  love  and  of  hear- 
ing every  emotion  of  my  heart  translated  into  musical 
cadences.  It  was  my  passion  that  filled  the  air  and  the 
stage,  that  was  triumphant  everywhere  but  with  my  mistress. 
Then  I  would  take  Fcedora's  hand.  I  used  to  scan  her 
features  and  her  eyes,  imploring  of  them  some  indication 
that  one  blended  feeling  possessed  us  both,  seeking  for  the 
sudden  harmony  awakened  by  the  power  of  music,  which 
makes  our  souls  vibrate  in  unison ;  but  her  hand  was  passive, 
her  eyes  said  nothing. 

*^hen  the  fire  that  burned  in  me  glowed  too  fiercely  from 
the  face  I  turned  upon  her,  she  met  it  with  that  studied  smile 
of  hers,  the  conventional  expression  that  sits  on  the  lips  of 
every  portrait  in  every  exhibition.  She  was  not  listening  to 
the  music.       The  divine  pages  of  Eossini,   Cimarosa,  or 

9 


130  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

Zingarelli  called  up  no  emotion,  gave  no  voice  to  any  poetry 
in  her  life;  her  soul  was  a  desert. 

"Foedora  presented  herself  as  a  drama  before  a  drama. 
Her  lorgnette  traveled  restlessly  over  the  boxes ;  she  was  rest- 
less too  beneath  the  apparent  calm;  fashion  tyrannized  over 
her;  her  box,  her  bonnet,  her  carriage,  her  own  personality 
absorbed  her  entirely.  My  merciless  knowledge  thoroughly 
tore  away  all  my  illusions.  If  good  breeding  consists  in 
,  self-f orgetf ulness  and  consideration  for  others,  in  constantly 
showing  gentleness  in  voice  and  bearing,  in  pleasing  others, 
aad  in  making  them  content  in  themselves,  all  traces  of  her 
plebeian  origin  were  not  yet  obliterated  in  Foedora,  in  spite 
of  her  cleverness.  Her  self-forgetfulness  was  a  sham,  her 
manners  were  not  innate  but  painfully  acquired,  her  polite- 
ness was  rather  subservient.  And  yet  for  those  she  singled 
out,  her  honeyed  M^ords  expressed  natural  kindness,  her  pre- 
tentious exaggeration  was  exalted  enthusiasm.  I  alone  had 
scrutinized  her  grimacings,  and  stripped  away  the  thin  rind 
that  sufficed  to  conceal  her  real  nature  from  the  world;  her 
trickery  no  longer  deceived  me ;  I  had  sounded  the  depths  of 
that  feline  nature.  I  blushed  for  her  when  some  donkey  or 
other  flattered  and  complimented  her.  And  yet  I  loved  her 
through  it  all !  I  hoped  that  her  snows  would  melt  with  the 
warmth  of  a  poet's  love.  If  I  could  only  have  made  her 
heart  capable  of  a  woman's  tenderness,  if  I  could  have  made 
her  feel  all  the  greatness  that  lies  in  devotion,  then  I  should 
have  seen  her  perfected,  she  would  have  been  an  angel.  I 
loved  her  as  a  man,  a  lover,  and  an  artist;  if  it  had  been 
necessary  not  to  love  her  so  that  I  might  win  her,  some  cool- 
headed  coxcomb,  some  self-possessed  calculator  would  perhaps 
have  had  the  advantage  over  me.  She  was  so  vain  and 
sophisticated,  that  the  language  of  vanity  would  appeal  to 
her;  she  would  have  allowed  herself  to  be  taken  in  the  toils 
of  an  intrigue;  a  hard,  cold  nature  would  have  gained  a  com- 
plete ascendency  over  her.  Keen  grief  had  pierced  me  to 
my  very  soul,  as  she  unconsciously  revealed  her  absolute  love 
of  self.     I  seemed  to  see  her  as  she  one  day  would  be,  alone 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         131 

in  the  world,  with  no  one  to  whom  she  could  stretch  her  hand, 
with  no  friendly  eyes  for  her  own  to  meet  and  rest  upon.  I 
was  bold  enough  to  set  this  before  her  one  evening ;  I  painted 
in  vivid  colors  her  lonely,  sad,  deserted  old  age.  Her  com- 
ment on  this  prospect  of  so  terrible  a  revenge  of  thwart^i 
nature  was  horrible. 

"  'I  shall  always  have  money,'  she  said ;  ^and  with  money 
we  can  always  inspire  such  sentiments  as  are  necessary  for 
our  comfort  in  those  about  us.'  I 

"I  went  away  confounded  by  the  arguments  of  luxury,  by 
the  reasoning  of  this  woman  of  the  world  in  which  she 
lived ;  and  blamed  myself  for  my  infatuated  idolatry,  I  mj'-- 
self  had  not  loved  Pauline  because  she  was  poor;  and  had 
not  the  wealthy  Fcedora  a  right  to  repulse  Raphael  ?  Con- 
science is  our  unerring  judge  until  we  finally  stifle  it.  A 
specious  voice  said  within  me,  'Foedora  is  neither  attracted 
to  nor  repulses  any  one ;  she  has  her  liberty,  but  once  upon  a 
time  she  sold  herself  to  the  Eussian  count,  her  husband  or 
her  lover,  for  gold.  But  temptation  is  certain  to  enter  into 
her  life.  Wait  till  that  moment  comes !'  She  lived  remote 
from  humanity,  in  a  sphere  apart,  in  a  hell  or  a  heaven 
of  her  own;  she  was  neither  frail  nor  virtuous.  This 
feminine  enigma  in  embroideries  and  cashmeres  had  brought 
into  play  every  emotion  of  the  human  heart  in  me — pride, 
ambition,  love,  curiosity. 

"There  was  a  craze  just  then  for  praising  a  play  at  a  little 
Boulevard  theatre,  prompted  perhaps  by  a  wish  to  appear 
original  that  besets  us  all,  or  due  to  some  freak  of  fashion. 
The  countess  showed  some  signs  of  a  wish  to  see  the  floured 
face  of  the  actor  who  had  so  delighted  several  people  of 
taste,  and  I  obtained  the  honor  of  taking  her  to  a  first 
representation  of  some  wretched  farce  or  other.  A  box 
scarcely  cost  five  francs,  but  I  had  not  a  brass  farthing.  I 
was  but  half-way  through  the  volume  of  Memoirs;  I  dared 
not  beg  for  assistance  of  Finot,  and  Rastignac,  ray  providence, 
was  away.  These  constant  perplexities  were  the  bane  of  my 
life. 


t32  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"We  had  once  come  out  of  the  theatre  when  it  was  raining 
heavily;  Foedora  had  called  a  cab  for  me  before  I  could 
escape  from  her  show  of  concern ;  she  would  not  admit  any  of 
my  excuses — m}^  liking  for  wet  weather,  and  my  wish  to  go 
to  the  gaming-table.  She  did  not  read  my  poverty  in  my 
embarrassed  attitude,  nor  in  my  forced  jests.  My  eyes  would 
redden,  but  she  did  not  understand  a  look.  A  young  man's 
life  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  strangest  whims !  At  every  revolu- 
,  tion  of  the  wheels  during  the  journey,  thoughts  that  burned 
stirred  in  my  heart.  I  tried  to  pull  up  a  plank  from  the 
bottom  of  the  vehicle,  hoping  to  slip  through  the  hole  into 
the  street;  but  finding  insuperable  obstacles,  I  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughter,  and  then  sat  stupefied  in  calm  dejection,  like 
a  man  in  the  pillory.  When  I  reached  my  lodging,  Pauline 
broke  in  through  my  first  stammering  words  with: 

"  'If  you  haven't  any  money ?' 

"Ah,  the  music  of  Eossini  was  as  nothing  compared  with 
those  words.  But  to  return  to  the  performance  at  the 
Funambules. 

"I  thought  of  pawning  the  circlet  of  gold  round  my 
mother's  portrait  in  order  to  escort  the  countess.  Although 
the  pawnbroker  loomed  in  my  thoughts  as  one  of  the  doors 
of  a  convict's  prison,  I  would  rather  myself  have  carried  my 
bed  thither  than  have  begged  for  alms.  There  is  something 
so  painful  in  the  expression  of  a  man  who  asks  money  of 
you !  There  are  loans  that  mulct  us  of  our  self-respect,  just 
as  some  rebuffs  from  a  friend's  lips  sweep  away  our  last 
illusion. 

"Pauline  was  working;  her  mother  had  gone  to  bed.       I 

flung  a  stealthy  glance  over  the  bed ;  the  curtains  were  drawn 

back  a  little ;  Madame  Gaudin  was  in  a  deep  sleep,  I  thought, 

when  I  saw  her  quiet,  sallow  profile  outlined  against  the 

I  pillow. 

"  'You  are  in  trouble  ?'  Pauline  said,  dipping  her  brush  into 
the  coloring. 

"  'It  is  in  your  power  to  do  me  a  great  service,  my  dear 
child,'  I  answered. 


te 
te 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  133 

**The  gladness  in  her  eyes  frightened  me. 

"  ^s  it  possible  that  she  loves  me  ?'  I  thought.  Tanline,* 
I  began.  I  went  and  sat  near  to  her,  so  as  to  study  her.  My 
tones  had  been  so  searching  that  she  read  my  thought;  her 
eyes  fell,  and  I  scrutinized  her  face  It  was  so  pure  and 
frank  that  I  fancied  I  could  see  as  clearly  into  her  heart  as. 
into  my  own. 

TDo  you  love  me?'  I  asked. 

*A  little, — passionately — not  a  bit !'  she  cried. 

"Then  she  did  not  love  me.  Her  jesting  tones,  and  a  little 
gleeful  movement  that  escaped  her,  expressed  nothing  beyond 
a  girlish,  blithe  goodwill.  I  told  her  about  my  distress  and 
the  predicament  in  which  I  found  myself,  and  asked  her  to 
help  me. 

"  'You  do  not  wish  to  go  to  the  pawnbroker's  yourself,  M. 
Raphael,'  she  answered,  'and  yet  you  would  send  me !' 

"I  blushed  in  confusion  at  the  child's  reasoning.  She  took 
my  hand  in  hers  as  if  she  wanted  to  comj)ensate  for  this 
home-truth  by  her  light  touch  upon  it. 

"  'Oh,  I  would  willingly  go,'  she  said,  *but  it  is  not  neces- 
sary. I  found  two  five-franc  pieces  at  the  back  of  the  piano, 
that  had  slipped  without  3'^our  knowledge  between  the  frame 
and  the  keyboard,  and  I  laid  them  on  your  table.' 

"  'You  will  soon  be  coming  into  some  money,  M.  Eaphael,* 
said  the  kind  mother,  showing  her  face  between  the  curtains, 
*and  I  can  easily  lend  you  a  few  crowns  meanwhile.' 

"  'Oh,  Pauline  !'  I  cried,  as  I  pressed  her  hand,  'how  I  wish 
that  I  were  rich !' 

"  'Bah !  why  should  you  ?'  she  said  petulantly.  Her  hand 
shook  in  mine  with  the  throbbing  of  her  pulse ;  she  snatched 
it  away,  and  looked  at  both  of  mine. 

"  'You  will  marry  a  rich  wife,'  she  said,  'but  she  will  give 
you  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Ah,  Dieu !  she  will  be  your 
death, — I  am  sure  of  it.' 

"In  her  exclamation  there  was  something  like  belief  in  her 
mother's  absurd  superstitions. 

'You  are  very  credulous,  Pauline  I' 


«  f 


134  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

*'''The  woman  whom  you  will  love  is  going  to  kill  you 
— there  is  no  doubt  of  it/  she  said,  looking  at  me  with 
alarm. 

"She  took  up  her  brush  again  and  dipped  it  in  the  color; 
her  great  agitation  was  evident ;  she  looked  at  me  no  longer. 
I  was  ready  to  give  credence  just  then  to  superstitious 
fancies;  no  man  is  utterly  wretched  so  long  as  he  is  super- 
stitious; a  belief  of  that  kind  is  often  in  reality  a  hope. 

"I  found  that  those  two  magnificent  five-franc  pieces  were 
lying,  in  fact,  upon  my  table  when  I  reached  my  room.  Dur- 
ing the  first  confused  thoughts  of  early  slumber,  I  tried  to 
audit  my  accounts  so  as  to  explain  this  unhoped-for  windfall ; 
but  I  lost  myself  in  useless  calculations,  and  slept.  Just  as 
I  was  leaving  my  room  to  engage  a  box  the  next  morning, 
Pauline  came  to  see  me. 

"  Terhaps  your  ten  francs  is  not  enough,'  said  the  amiable, 
kind-hearted  girl;  'my  mother  told  me  to  offer  you  this 
money.     Take  it,  please,  take  it !' 

"She  laid  three  crowns  upon  the  table,  and  tried  to  escape, 
but  I  would  not  let  her  go.  Admiration  dried  the  tears 
that  sprang  to  my  eyes. 

'•  'You  are  an  angel,  Pauline,'  I  said.  'It  is  not  the  loan 
that  touches  me  so  much  as  the  delicacy  with  which  it  is 
offered.  I  used  to  wish  for  a  rich  wife,  a  fashionable  woman 
of  rank ;  and  now,  alas !  I  would  rather  possess  millions,  and 
find  some  girl,  as  poor  as  you  are,  with  a  generous  nature  like 
your  own;  and  I  would  renounce  a  fatal  passion  which  will 
kill  me.     Perhaps  what  you  told  me  will  come  true.' 

"  'That  is  enough,'  she  said,  and  fled  away ;  the  fresh  trills 
of  her  birdlike  voice  rang  up  the  staircase. 

"  'She  is  very  happy  in  not  yet  knowing  love,'  I  said  to  my- 
self, thinking  of  the  torments  I  had  endured  for  many  months 
past. 

"Pauline's  fifteen  francs  were  invaluable  to  me.  Fcedora, 
thinking  of  the  stifling  odor  af  the  crowded  place  where  we 
were  to  spend  several  hours,  was  sorry  that  she  had  not 
brought  a  bouquet;  I  went  in  search  of  flowers  for  her,  as 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  135 

I  Had  laid  already  my  life  and  my  fate  at  her  feet.  With  a 
pleasure  in  which  compunction  mingled,  I  gave  her  a  bouquet. 
I  learned  from  its  price  the  extravagance  of  superfioial 
gallantry  in  the  world.  But  very  soon  she  complained  of 
the  heavy  scent  of  a  Mexican  jessamine.  The  interior  of  the 
theatre,  the  bare  bench  on  which  she  was  to  sit,  filled  her 
with  intolerable  disgust;  she  upbraided  me  for  bringing  her 
there.  Although  she  sat  beside  me,  she  wished  to  go,  and 
she  went.  I  had  spent  sleepless  nights,  and  squandered  two/ 
months  of  my  life  for  her,  and  I  could  not  please  her.  lieren 
had  that  tormenting  spirit  been  more  unfeeling  or  more 
fascinating. 

"I  sat  beside  her  in  the  cramped  back  seat  of  the  vehicle; 
all  the  way  I  could  feel  her  breath  on  me  and  the  contact 
of  her  perfumed  glove;  I  saw  distinctly  all  her  exceeding 
beauty ;  I  inhaled  a  vague  scent  of  orris-root ;  so  wholly  a 
woman  she  was,  with  no  touch  of  womanhood.  Just  then 
a  sudden  gleam  of  light  lit  up  the  depths  of  this  mysterious 
life  for  me.  I  thought  all  at  once  of  a  book  just  published 
by  a  poet,  a  genuine  conception  of  the  artist,  in  the  shape  of 
the  statue  of  Polvcletus. 

"I  seemed  to  see  that  monstrous  creation,  at  one  time  an 
officer,  breaking  in  a  spirited  horse;  at  another,  a  girl,  wko 
gives  herself  up  to  her  toilette  and  breaks  her  lovers' hearts ; 
or  again,  a  false  lover  driving  a  timid  and  gentle  maid  to 
despair.  Unable  to  analyze  Foedora  by  any  other  process,  I 
told  her  this  fanciful  story;  but  no  hint  of  her  reseinbla»«« 
to  this  poetry  of  the  impossible  crossed  her — it  simply 
diverted  her;  she  was  like  a  child  over  a  story  from  the 
Arabian  Nights. 

"  'Foedora  must  be  shielded  by  some  talisman/  T  thought 
to  myself  as  I  went  back,  'or  she  could  not  resist  the  love 
of  a  man  of  my  age,  the  infectious  fever  of  that  splendid 
malady  of  the  soul.  Is  Foedora,  like  Lady  Delacour,  a  prey 
to  a  cancer?     Her  life  is  certainly  an  unnatural  one.' 

"I  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Then  I  decided  on  a  plan, 
at  once  the  wildest  and  the  most  rational  tha.t  lover  ever 


Itf6  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

dreamed  of.  I  would  study  this  woman  from  a  physical  point 
of  view,  as  I  had  already  studied  her  intellectually,  and  to 
this  end  I  made  up  my  mind  to  spend  a  night  in  her  room 
without  her  knowledge.  This  project  preyed  upon  me  as  a 
thirst  for  revenge  gnaws  at  the  heart  of  a  Corsican  monk. 
This  is  how  I  carried  it  out.  On  the  days  when  Foedora 
Teceived,  her  rooms  were  far  too  crowded  for  the  hall-porter 
to  keep  the  balance  even  between  goers  and  comers;  I  could 
'remain  in  the  house,  I  felt  sure,  without  causing  a  scandal 
in  it,  and  I  waited  the  countess'  coming  soiree  with  im- 
patience. As  I  dressed  I  put  a  little  English  penknife  into 
my  waistcoat  pocket,  instead  of  a  poniard.  That  literary 
implement,  if  found  upon  me,  could  awaken  no  suspicion, 
but  I  knew  not  whither  my  romantic  resolution  might  lead, 
and  I  wished  to  be  prepared. 

"As  soon  as  the  rooms  began  to  fill,  I  entered  the  bedroom 
and  examined  the  arrangements.  The  inner  and  outer 
shutters  were  closed;  this  was  a  good  beginning;  and  as  the 
waiting-maid  might  come  to  draw  back  the  curtains  that 
hung  over  the  windows,  I  pulled  them  together,  I  was 
running  great  risks  in  venturing  to  manoeuvre  beforehand  in 
this  way,  but  I  had  accepted  the  situation,  and  had 
deliberately  reckoned  with  its  dangers. 

"About  midnight  I  hid  myself  in  the  embrasure  of  the 
window.  I  tried  to  scramble  on  to  a  ledge  of  the  wains- 
coting, hanging  on  by  the  fastening  of  the  shutters  with  my 
back  against  the  wall,  in  such  a  position  that  my  feet  could 
not  be  visible.  When  I  had  carefully  considered  my  points 
of  support,  and  the  space  between  me  and  the  curtains,  I 
had  become  sufficiently  acquainted  with  all  the  difficulties  of 
my  position  to  stay  in  it  without  fear  of  detection  if  undis- 
turbed by  cramp,  coughs,  or  sneezings.  To  avoid  useless 
fatigue,  I  remained  standing  until  the  critical  moment,  when 
I  must  hang  suspended  like  a  spider  in  its  web.  The  white- 
watered  silk  and  muslin  of  the  curtains  spread  before  me  in 
great  pleats  like  organ-pipes.  With  my  penknife  I  out  loop- 
holes in  them,  through  which  I  could  see. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEAKT  137 

*1  heard  vague  murmurs  from  the  salons,  the  laughter  and 
the  louder  tones  of  the  speakers.  The  smothered  commotion 
and  vague  uproar  lessened  by  slow  degrees.  One  man  and 
another  came  for  his  hat  from  the  countess'  chest  of 
drawers,  close  to  where  I  stood.  I  shivered,  if  the  curtains 
were  disturbed,  at  the  thought  of  the  mischances  consequent 
on  the  confused  and  hasty  investigations  made  by  the  men 
in  a  hurry  to  depart,  who  were  rummaging  everywhere. 
.When  I  experienced  no  misfortunes  of  this  kind,  I  augured 
well  of  my  enterprise.  An  old  wooer  of  Foedora's  came  for 
the  last  hat;  he  thought  himself  quite  alone,  looked  at  the 
"bed,  and  heaved  a  great  sigh,  accompanied  by  some  inaudible 
exclamation,  into  which  he  threw  sufficient  energy.  In  the 
boudoir  close  by,  the  countess,  finding  only  some  five  or  six 
intimate  acquaintances  about  her,  proposed  tea.  The 
scandals  for  which  existing  society  has  reserved  the  little 
faculty  of  belief  that  it  retains,  mingled  with  epigrams  and 
trenchant  witticisms,  and  the  clatter  of  cups  and  spoons. 
Eastignac  drew  roars  of  laughter  by  merciless  sarcasms  at  the 
expense  of  my  rivals. 

"  'M.  de  Eastignac  is  a  man  with  whom  it  is  better  not  to 
quarrel,'  said  the  countess,  laughing. 

"  'I  am  quite  of  that  opinion,'  was  his  candid  reply.  *I 
have  always  been  right  about  my  aversions — and  my  friend- 
ships as  well,'  he  added.  Terhaps  my  enemies  are  quite  as 
useful  to  me  as  my  friends.  I  have  made  a  particular  study 
of  modern  phraseology,  and  of  the  natural  craft  that  is  used 
in  all  attack  or  defence.  Official  eloquence  is  one  of  our  per- 
fect social  products. 

"'One  of  your  friends  is  not  clever,  so  you  speak  of  his 
integrity  and  his  candor.  Another's  work  is  heavy;  you  in- 
troduce it  as  a  piece  of  conscientious  labor;  and  if  the  book 
is  ill  written,  you  extol  the  ideas  it  contains.  Such  an  one 
is  treacherous  and  fickle,  slips  through  your  fingers  every 
moment;  bahl  he  is  attractive,  bewitching,  he  is  delightful! 
Suppose  they  are  enemies,  you  fling  every  one,  dead  or  alive, 
Ln  their  teeth.     You  reverse  your  phraseology  for  their  bene- 


188  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

fit,  and  you  are  as  keen  in  detecting  their  faults  as  you  were 
before  adroit  in  bringing  out  the  virtues  of  your  friends. 
This  way  of  using  the  mental  lorgnette  is  the  secret  of  con- 
versation nowadays,  and  the  whole  art  of  the  complete 
courtier.  If  you  neglect  it,  you  might  as  well  go  out  as  an 
unarmed  knight-banneret  to  fight  against  men  in  armor. 
And  I  make  use  of  it,  arid  even  abuse  it  at  times.  So  we  are 
respected — I  and  my  friends ;  and,  moreover,  my  sword  is  quite 
as  sharp  as  my  tongue.' 

"One  of  Foedora's  most  fervid  worshipers,  whose  presump- 
tion was  notorious,  and  who  even  made  it  contribute  to  his 
success,  took  up  the  glove  thrown  down  so  scornfully  by  Eas- 
tignac.  He  began  an  unmeasured  eulogy  of  me,  my  per- 
formances, and  my  character.  Eastignac  had  overlooked  this 
method  of  detraction.  His  sarcastic  encomiums  misled  the 
countess,  who  sacrificed  without  mercy;  she  betrayed  my 
secrets,  and  derided  my  pretensions  and  my  hopes,  to  divert 
her  friends. 

"  'There  is  a  future  before  him,'  said  Eastignac.  *Some 
day  he  may  be  in  a  position  to  take  a  cruel  revenge ;  his  talents 
are  at  least  equal  to  his  courage ;  and  I  should  consider  those 
who  attack  him  very  rash,  for  he  has  a  good  memory ' 

"  'And  writes  Memoirs,'  put  in  the  countess,  who  seemed 
to  object  to  the  deep  silence  that  prevailed. 

"  'Memoirs  of  a  sham  countess,  madame,'  replied  Eas- 
tignac. 'Another  sort  of  courage  is  needed  to  write  that  sort 
of  thinjy.' 

'"I  give  him  credit  for  plenty  of  courage,'  she  answered; 
*he  is  faithful  to  me.' 

"I  was  greatly  tempted  to  show  myself  suddenly  among  the 
railers,  like  the  shade  of  Banquo  in  Macbeth.  I  should  have 
lost  a  mistress,  but  I  had  a  friend !  But  love  inspired  me 
all  at  once,  with  one  of  those  treacherous  and  fallacious  sxib- 
tleties  that  it  can  use  to  soothe  all  our  pangs. 

"If  Frpdora  loTed  me,  I  thought,  she  would  be  sure  to  dis- 
guise her  feelings  by  some  mocking  Je^t.  How  often  tht 
heart  protests  against  a  lie  on  the  lips ! 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  139 

''Well,  very  soon  my  audacious  rival,  left  alone  with  the 
countess,  rose  to  go. 

"  'What !  already  ?'  asked  she  in  a  coaxing  voice  that  set 
my  heart  beating.  ^Will  you  not  give  me  a  few  more 
minutes?  Have  you  nothing  more  to  say  to  me?  will  you 
never  sacrifice  any  of  your  pleasures  for  me  ?' 

"lie  went  away. 

"  'Ah !'  she  yawned ;  liow  very  tiresome  they  all  are  !* 

"She  pulled  a  cord  energetically  till  the  sound  of  a  bell 
rang  through  the  place;  then,  humming  a  few  notes  of  Pria 
die  spunti,  the  countess  entered  her  room.  No  one  had 
ever  heard  her  sing ;  her  muteness  had  called  forth  the  wild- 
est explanations.  She  had  promised  her  first  lover,  so  it  was 
said,  who  had  been  held  captive  by  her  talent,  and  whose 
jealousy  over  her  stretched  beyond  his  grave,  that  she  would 
never  allow  others  to  experience  a  happiness  that  he  wished 
to  be  his  and  his  alone. 

"I  exerted  every  power  of  my  soul  to  catch  the  sounds. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  notes;  Foedora's  life  seemed  to 
dilate  within  her;  her  throat  poured  forth  all  its  richest 
tones;  something  well-nigh  divine  entered  into  the  melody. 
There  was  a  bright  purity  and  clearness  of  tone  in  the 
countess'  voice,  a  thrilling  harmony  which  reached  the  heart 
and  stirred  its  pulses.  Musicians  are  seldom  unemotional; 
a  woman  who  could  sing  like  that  must  know  how  to  love 
indeed.  Her  beautiful  voice  made  one  more  puzzle  in  a  wo- 
man mysterious  enough  before.  I  beheld  her  then,  as  plainly 
as  I  see  you  at  this  moment.  She  seemed  to  listen  to  herself, 
to  experience  a  secret  rapture  of  her  own ;  she  felt,  as  it  were, 
an  ecstasy  like  that  of  love. 

"She  stood  before  the  hearth  during  the  execution  of  the 
principal  theme  of  the  rondo;  and  when  she  ceased  her  face 
changed.  She  looked  tired;  her  features  seemed  to  alter. 
She  had  laid  the  mask  aside;  her  part  as  an  actress  was  over. 
Yet  the  faded  look  that  came  over  her  beautiful  face,  a 
result  either  of  this  performance  or  of  the  evening's  fatigues, 
had  its  charms,  too. 


140  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

'*  'This  is  her  real  self/  I  thought. 

*'She  set  her  foot  on  a  bronze  bar  of  the  fender  as  if  to 
warm  it,  took  off  her  gloves,  and  drew  over  her  head  the  gold 
chain  from  which  her  bejeweled  scent-bottle  hung.  It  gave 
me  a  quite  indescribable  pleasure  to  watch  the  feline  grace 
of  every  movement;  the  supple  grace  a  cat  displays  as  it 
adjusts  its  toilette  in  the  sun.  She  looked  at  herself  in  the 
mirror  and  said  aloud  ill-humoredly — 'I  did  not  look  well 
this  evening,  my  complexion  is  going  with  alarming  rapidity ; 
perhaps  I  ought  to  keep  earlier  hours,  and  give  up  this  life  of 
dissipation.  Does  Justine  mean  to  trifle  with  me?'  She 
rang  again;  her  maid  hurried  in.  Where  she  had  been  I 
cannot  tell ;  she  came  in  by  a  secret  staircase.  I  was  anxious 
to  make  a  study  of  her.  I  had  lodged  accusations,  in  my 
romantic  imaginings,  against  this  invisible  waiting-woman, 
a  tall,  well-made  brunette. 

"  'Did  madame  ring  ?' 

"'Yes,  twice,'  answered  Fcedora;  'are  you  really  growing 
deaf  nowadays?' 

"  'I  was  preparing  madame's  milk  of  almonds.' 

"Justine  kiiclt  down  before  her,  unlaced  her  sandals  and 
drew  them  off,  while  her  mistress  lay  carelessly  back  on  her 
cushioned  armchair  beside  the  fire,  yawned,  and  scratched 
her  head.  Every  movement  was  perfectly  natural ;  there  was 
nothing  whatever  to  indicate  the  secret  sufferings  or  emotions 
with  which  I  had  credited  her. 

"  'George  must  be  in  love  !'  she  remarked.  'I  shall  dismiss 
him.  He  has  drawn  the  curtains  again  to-night.  What 
does  he  mean  by  it  ?' 

"All  the  blood  in  my  veins  rushed  to  my  heart  at  this 
observation,  but  no  more  was  said  about  curtains. 

"  'Life  is  very  empty,'  the  countess  went  on.  'Ah !  be 
careful  not  to  scratch  me  as  you  did  yesterday.  Just  look 
here,  I  still  have  the  marks  of  your  nails  about  me,'  and 
she  held  out  a  little  silken  knee.  She  thrust  her  bare  feet 
into  velvet  slippers  bound  with  swan's-down,  and  unfastened 
her  dress,  while  Justine  Drenared  to  comb  her  hair. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         141 

'"You  ought  to  marry,  madame,  and  have  children.' 

"'Children!'  she  cried;  *it  wants  no  more  than  that  to 
finish  me  at  once;  and  a  husband!  What  man  is  there  to 
whom  I  could ?     Was  my  hair  well  arranged  to-night?' 

"  'Not  particularly/ 

"  'You  are  a  fool !' 

"  'That  way  of  crimping  your  hair  too  much  is  the  least 
becoming  way  jjossible  for  you.  Large,  smooth  curls  suit 
you  a  great  deal  better/ 

"'EeallyP 

"  'Yes,  really,  madams ;  that  wavy  style  only  looks  nice  in 
fair  hair.' 

"  'Marriage  ?  never,  never !  Marriage  is  a  commercial  ar- 
rangement, for  which  I  was  never  made.' 

"What  a  disheartening  scene  for  a  lover !  Here  was  a 
lonely  woman,  without  friends  or  kin,  without  the  religion  of 
love,  without  faith  in  any  affection.  Yet  however  slightly  she 
might  feel  the  need  to  pour  out  her  heart,  a  craving  that 
every  human  being  feels,  it  could  only  be  satisfied  by  gossip- 
ing with  her  maid,  by  trivial  and  indifferent  talk.  ...  I 
grieved  for  her. 

"Justine  unlaced  her.  I  watched  her  carefully  when  she 
was  at  last  unveiled.  Her  maidenly  form,  in  its  rose-tinged 
whiteness,  was  visible  through  her  shift  in  the  taper  light,  as 
dazzling  as  some  silver  statue  behind  its  gauze  covering.  No, 
there  was  no  defect  that  need  shrink  from  the  stolen  glances 
of  love.  Alas,  a  fair  form  will  overcome  the  stoutest  resolu- 
tions ! 

"The  maid  lighted  the  taper  in  the  alabaster  sconce  that 
hung  before  the  bed,  while  her  mistress  sat  thoughtful  and 
silent  before  the  fire.  Justine  went  for  a  warming-pan, 
turned  down  the  bed,  and  helped  to  lay  her  mistress  in  it; 
then,  after  some  further  time  spent  in  punctiliously  render- 
ing various  services  that  showed  how  seriously  Foedora  re- 
spected herself,  her  maid  left  her.  The  countess  turned  to 
and  fro  several  times,  and  sighed ;  she  was  ill  at  ease ;  faint, 
just  perceptible  sounds,  like  siglas  of  impatienc-G,  escaped 


142  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

from  her  lips.  She  reached  out  a  hand  to  the  -table,  and  took  a 
flask  from  it,  from  which  she  shook  four  or  five  drops  of  some 
brown  liquid  into  some  milk  before  taking  it;  again  there 
followed  some  painful  sighs,  and  the  exclamation,  'Mon 
Dim!' 

"The  cry,  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered,  wrung  my 
heart.  By  degrees  she  lay  motionless.  This  frightened  me ; 
but  very  soon  I  heard  a  sleeper's  heavy,  regular  breathing.  I 
drew  the  rustling  silk  curtains  apart,  left  my  post,  went  to 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  gazed  at  her  with  feelings  that  I 
cannot  define.  She  was  so  enchanting  as  she  lay  like  a  child, 
with  her  arm  above  her  head;  but  the  sweetness  of  the  fair, 
quiet  visage,  surrounded  by  the  lace,  only  irritated  me.  I 
had  not  been  prepared  for  the  torture  to  which  I  was  com- 
pelled to  submit. 

'"Mon  Dieu!'  that  scrap  of  a  thought  which  I  understood 
not,  but  must  even  take  as  my  sole  light,  had  suddenly 
modified  my  opinion  of  Fcedora.  Trite  or  profoundly 
significant,  frivolous  or  of  deep  import,  the  words  might  be 
construed  as  expressive  of  either  pleasure  or  pain,  of  phj-sical 
or  of  mental  suffering.  Was  it  a  prayer  or  a  malediction, 
a  forecast  or  a  memory,  a  fear  or  a  regret  ?  A  whole  life  lay 
in  that  utterance,  a  life  of  wealth  or  of  penury;  perhaps  it 
contained  a  crime ! 

"The  mystery  that  lurked  beneath  this  fair  semblance  of 
womanhood  grew  afresh;  there  were  so  many  ways  of  ex- 
plaining Fcedora,  that  she  became  inexplicable.  A  sort  of 
language  seemed  to  flow  from  between  her  lips.  I  put 
thoughts  and  feelings  into  the  accidents  of  her  breathing, 
whether  weak  or  regular,  gentle  or  labored.  I  shared  her 
dreams ;  I  would  fain  have  divined  her  secrets  by  reading 
them  through  her  slumber.  I  hesitated  among  contradictory 
opinions  and  decisions  without  number.  I  could  not  deny 
Yny  heart  to  the  woman  I  saw  before  me,  with  the  calm,  pure 
beauty  in  her  face.  I  resolved  to  make  one  more  effort.  If 
I  told  her  the  story  of  my  life,  my  love,  my  sacrifices,  might 
I  not  awaken  pity  in  her  or  draw  a  tear  from  her  who  never 
wept? 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         148 

"As  I  set  all  my  hopes  on  this  last  experiment,  the  sounds 
in  the  streets  showed  that  day  was  at  hand.  For  a  moment's 
space  I  pictured  Foedora  waking  to  find  herself  in  my  arms. 
I  could  have  stolen  softly  to  her  side  and  slipped  them  about 
her  in  a  close  embrace.  Eesolved  to  resist  the  cruel  tyranny 
of  this  thought,  I  hurried  into  the  salon,  heedless  of  any 
sounds  I  might  make;  but,  luckily,  I  came  upon  a  secret 
door  leading  to  a  little  staircase.  As  I  had  expected,  the  key 
was  in  the  lock;  I  slammed  the  door,  went  boldly  out  into 
the  court,  and  gained  the  street  in  three  bounds,  without  look- 
ing round  to  see  whether  I  was  observed. 

"A  dramatist  was  to  read  a  comedy  at  the  countess'  house 
in  two  days'  time;  I  went  thither,  intending  to  outstay  the 
others,  so  as  to  make  a  rather  singular  request  to  her;  I 
meant  to  ask  her  to  keep  the  following  evening  for  me  alone, 
and  to  deny  herself  to  other  comers;  but  when  I  found  my- 
self alone  with  her,  my  courage  failed.  Every  tick  of  the 
clock  alarmed  me.  It  wanted  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of 
midnight. 

"  *If  I  do  not  speak,'  I  thought  to  myself,  'I  must  smash 
my  head  against  the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece.' 

"I  gave  myself  three  minutes'  grace ;  the  three  m.inutes  went 
by,  and  I  did  not  smash  my  head  upon  the  marble;  my  heart 
grew  heavy,  like  a  sponge  with  water. 

"  'You  are  exceedingly  amusing,'  said  she. 

"'Ah,  madame,  if  you  could  but  understand  me!'  I 
answered. 

"'What  is  the  matter  with  you?'  she  asked.  ^ou  are 
turning  pale.' 

"  'I  am  hesitating  to  ask  a  favor  of  you.' 

"Her  gesture  revived  my  courage.  I  asked  her  to  make  the 
appointment  with  me. 

"'Willingly,'  she  answered;  'but  why  will  you  not  speak 
to  me  now?' 

"To  be  candid  with  you,  I  ought  to  explain  the  full 
scope  of  your  promise :  I  want  to  spend  this  evening  by  your 
side,  as  if  we  were  brother  and  sister.     Have  no  fear '  I  am 


144  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

aware  of  your  antipathies;  you  must  have  divined  me 
sufficiently  to  feel  sure  that  I  should  wish  you  to  do  nothing 
that  could  be  displeasing  to  you;  presumption,  moreover, 
would  not  thus  approach  you.  You  have  been  a  friend  to  me, 
you  have  shown  me  kindness  and  great  indulgence;  know, 
therefore,  that  to-morrow  I  must  bid  you  farewell. — Do  not 
take  back  your  word,'  I  exclaimed,  seeing  her  about  to  speak, 
and  I  went  away. 

"At  eight  o'clock  one  evening  towards  the  end  of  May, 
Fcedora  and  I  were  alone  together  in  her  gothic  boudoir,  I 
feared  no  longer;  I  was  secure  of  happiness.  My  mistress 
should  be  mine,  or  I  would  seek  a  refuge  in  death.  I  had 
condemned  my  faint-hearted  love,  and  a  man  who  acknowl- 
edges his  weakness  is  strong  indeed. 

"The  countess,  in  her  blue  cashmere  gown,  was  reclining 
on  a  sofa,  with  her  feet  on  a  cushion.  She  wore  an  Oriental 
turban  such  as  painters  assign  to  early  Hebrews ;  its  strange- 
ness added  an  indescribable  coquettish  grace  to  her  attrac- 
tions. A  transitory  charm  seemed  to  have  laid  its  spell  on 
her  face ;  it  might  have  furnished  the  argument  that  at  every 
instant  we  become  new  and  unparalleled  beings,  without  any 
resemblance  to  the  us  of  the  future  or  of  the  past.  I  had 
never  yet  seen  her  so  radiant. 

"  'Do  you  know  that  you  have  piqued  my  curiosity  ?'  she 
said,  laughing. 

"  *I  will  not  disappoint  it,'  I  said  quietly,  as  I  seated  my- 
self near  to  her  and  took  the  hand  that  she  surrendered  to 
me.     *You  have  a  very  beautiful  voice  '* 

"  'You  have  never  heard  me  sing !'  she  exclaimed,  starting 
involuntarily  with  surprise. 

"  'I  will  prove  that  it  is  quite  otherwise,  whenever  it  is 
necessary.  Is  your  delightful  singing  still  to  remain  a 
mystery  ?     Have  no  fear,  I  do  not  wish  to  penetrate  it.' 

"We  spent  about  an  hour  in  familiar  talk.  While  I 
adopted  the  attitude  and  manner  of  a  man  to  whom  Foedora 
must  refuse  nothing,  I  showed  her  all  a  lover's  deference. 
Acting  in  this  way,  I  received  a  favor — I  was  allowed  to  kiss 


We  spent  about  an  hour  in  familiar  talk 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  145 

her  hand.  She  daintily  drew  off  the  glove,  and  my  whole  soul 
was  dissolved  and  ponred  forth  in  that  kiss.  I  was  steeped  in 
the  bliss  of  an  illusion  in  which  I  tried  to  believe. 

"Foedora  lent  herself  most  unexpectedly  to  my  caress  and 
my  flatteries.  Do  not  accuse  me  of  f aint-heartedness ;  if  I 
had  gone  a  step  beyond  these  fraternal  compliments,  the 
claws  would  have  been  out  of  the  sheath  and  into  me.  We  re- 
mained perfectly  silent  for  nearly  ten  minutes.  I  was  admiring 
her,  investing  her  with  the  charms  she  had  not.  She  was  mine 
just  then,  and  mine  only, — this  enchanting  being  was  mine, 
as  was  permissible,  in  my  imagination ;  my  longing  wrapped 
her  round  and  held  her  close ;  in  my  soul  I  wedded  her.  The 
countess  was  subdued  and  fascinated  by  my  magnetic  in- 
fluence. Ever  since  I  have  regretted  that  this  subjugation 
was  not  absolute ;  but  just  then  I  yearned  for  her  soul,  her 
heart  alone,  and  for  nothing  else.  I  longed  for  an  ideal  and 
perfect  happiness,  a  fair  illusion  that  cannot  last  for  very 
long.  At  last  I  spoke,  feeling  that  the  last  hours  of  my 
frenzy  were  at  hand. 

"  'Hear  me,  madame.  I  love  you,  and  you  know  it ;  I 
have  said  so  a  hundred  times ;  you  must  have  understood  me. 
I  would  not  take  upon  me  the  airs  of  a  coxcomb,  nor  would 
I  flatter  you,  nor  urge  myself  upon  you  like  a  fool ;  I  would 
not  owe  your  love  to  such  arts  as  these !  so  I  have  been  mis- 
understood. What  sufferings  have  I  not  endured  for  your 
sake !  For  these,  however,  you  were  not  to  blame ;  but  in  a 
few  minutes  you  shall  decide  for  yourself.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  poverty,  madame.  One  kind  openly  walks  the 
street  in  rags,  an  unconscious  imitator  of  Diogenes,  on  a 
scanty  diet,  reducing  life  to  its  simplest  terms ;  he  is  happier, 
maybe,  than  the  rich;  he  has  fewer  cares  at  any  rate,  and  ac- 
cepts such  portions  of  the  world  as  stronger  spirits  refuse. 
Then  there  is  poverty  in  splendor,  a  Spanish  pauper,  con- 
cealing the  life  of  a  beggar  by  his  title,  his  bravery,  and  his 
pride;  poverty  that  wears  a  white  waistcoat  and  yellow  kid 
gloves,  a  beggar  with  a  carriage,  whose  whole  career  will  be 
wrecked  for  lack  of  a  halfpenny.     Poverty  of  the  first  kind 


146  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

belongs  to  the  populace ;  the  second  kind  is  that  of  blacklegs, 
of  kings,  and  of  men  of  talent.  I  am  neither  a  man  of  the 
people,  nor  a  king,  nor  a  swindler;  possibly  I  have  no  talent 
either ;  I  am  an  exception.  With  the  name  I  bear  I  must  die 
sooner  than  beg.  Set  jout  mind  at  rest,  madame,'  I  said; 
*to-day  I  have  abundance,  I  possess  sufficient  of  the  clay  for 
my  needs;'  for  the  hard  look  passed  over  her  face  which  we 
wear  whenever  a  well-dressed  beggar  takes  us  by  surprise. 
*Do  you  remember  the  day  when  you  wished  to  go  to  the 
Gymnase  without  me,  never  believing  that  I  should  be  there  ?' 
I  went  on. 

"She  nodded. 

"  'I  had  laid  out  my  last  five-franc  piece  that  I  might  see 
you  there. — Do  you  recollect  our  walk  in  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes?     The  hire  of  your  cab  took  everything  I  had.' 

"I  told  her  about  my  sacrifices,  and  described  the  life  I  led ; 
heated  not  with  wine,  as  I  am  to-day,  but  by  the  generous 
enthusiasm  of  my  heart,  my  passion  overflowed  in  burning 
words;  I  have  forgotten  how  the  feelings  within  me  blazed 
forth;  neither  memory  nor  skill  of  mine  could  possibly  re- 
produce it.  It  was  no  colorless  chronicle  of  blighted  affec- 
tions; my  love  was  strengthened  by  fair  hopes;  and  such 
words  came  to  me,  by  love's  inspiration,  that  each  had  power 
to  set  forth  a  whole  life — like  echoes  of  the  cries  of  a  soul  in 
torment.  In  such  tones  the  last  prayers  ascend  from  dying 
men  on  the  battlefield.  I  stopped,  for  she  was  weeping. 
Grand  Dieu!  I  had  reaped  an  actor's  reward,  the  success 
of  a  counterfeit  passion  displayed  at  the  cost  of  five  francs 
paid  at  the  theatre  door.     I  had  drawn  tears  from  her. 

"  'If  I  had  known '  she  said. 

"  'Do  not  finish  the  sentence,'  I  broke  in.  'Even  now  I 
love  you  well  enough  to  murder  you ' 

"She  reached  for  the  bell-pull.  I  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter. 

"  TDo  not  call  any  one,*  I  said.  'T  shall  leave  you  to  finish 
your  life  in  peace.  It  would  be  a  blundering  kind  of  hatred 
that  would  murder  you !     You  need  not  fear  violence  of  any' 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  147 

kind;  I  have  spent  a  whole  night  at  the  foot  ol  your  bed 
without ^ 

"  'Monsieur ^  she  said,  blushing ;  but  after  that  first 

impulse  of  modesty  that  even  the  most  hardened  women 
must  surely  own,  she  flung  a  scornful  glance  at  me,  and  said; 

"  Tou  must  have  been  very  cold.' 

"  'Do  you  think  that  I  set  such  value  on  your  beauty, 
madame,'  I  answered,  guessing  the  thoughts  that  moved  her. 
'Your  beautiful  face  is  for  me  a  promise  of  a  soul  yet  more 
beautiful.  Madame,  those  to  whom  a  woman  is  merely  a 
woman  can  always  purchase  odalisques  fit  for  the  seraglio, 
and  achieve  their  happiness  at  a  small  cost.  But  I  aspired  to 
something  higher;  I  wanted  the  life  of  close  communion  of 
heart  and  heart  with  you  that  have  no  heart.  I  know  that 
now.  If  you  were  to  belong  to  another,  I  could  kill  him. 
And  yet,  no;  for  you  would  love  him,  and  his  death  might 
hurt  you  perhaps.     What  agony  this  is  !'  I  cried. 

"  'If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you,'  she  retorted  cheer- 
fully, 'I  can  assure  you  that  I  shall  never  belong  to  any 
one ' 

"  'So  you  offer  an  affront  to  God  Himself,'  I  interrupted ; 
'and  you  will  be  punished  for  it.  Some  day  you  will  lie 
upon  your  sofa  suffering  unheard-of  ills,  unable  to  endure 
the  light  or  the  slightest  sound,  condemned  to  live  as  it  were 
in  the  tomb.  Then,  when  you  seek  the  causes  of  those  linger- 
ing and  avenging  torments,  you  will  remember  the  woes  that 
you  distributed  so  lavishly  upon  your  way.  You  have  sown 
curses,  and  hatred  will  be  your  reward.  "We  are  the  real 
judges,  the  executioners  of  a  justice  that  reigns  here  below, 
which  overrules  the  justice  of  man  and  the  laws  of  God.' 

"  'No  doubt  it  is  very  culpable  in  me  not  to  love  you,'  she 
said,  laughing.  'Am  I  to  blame?  No.  I  do  not  love  you; 
you  are  a  man,  that  is  sufficient.  I  am  happy  by  myself; 
why  should  I  give  up  my  way  of  living,  a  selfish  way,  if  you 
will,  for  the  caprices  of  a  master?  Marriage  is  a  sacrament 
by  virtue  of  which  each  imparts  nothing  but  vexations  to  the 
other.       Children,  moreover,  worrv  me.       Did  I  not  faith- 


148  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

fully  warn  you  about  my  nature  ?  Why  are  you  not  satisfied 
to  have  my  friendship  ?  I  wish  I  could  make  you  amends  for 
all  the  troubles  I  have  caused  you,  through  not  guessing  the 
value  of  your  poor  five-franc  pieces.  I  appreciate  the  extent 
of  your  sacrifices ;  but  your  devotion  and  delicate  tact  can  be 
repaid  by  love  alone,  and  I  care  so  little  for  you,  that  this 
scene  has  a  disagreeable  effect  upon  me.' 

"  'I  am  fully  aware  of  my  absurdity,'  I  said,  unable  to 
restrain  my  tears.  'Pardon  me,'  I  went  on,  'it  was  a  de- 
light to  hear  those  cruel  words  you  have  just  uttered,  so  well 
I  love  you.  0,  if  I  could  testify  my  love  with  every  drop  of 
blood  in  me !' 

"  'Men  always  repeat  these  classic  formulas  to  us,  more  or 
less  effectively,'  she  answered,  still  smiling.  'But  it  appears 
very  difficult  to  die  at  our  feet,  for  I  see  corpses  of  that  kind 
about  everywhere.  It  is  twelve  o'clock.  Allow  me  to  go  to  bed.' 

"  'And  in  two  hours'  time  you  will  cry  to  yourself.  Ah, 
mon  Dieu!' 

"  'Like  the  day  before  j^esterday !  Yes,'  she  said,  'I  was 
thinJ^ing  of  my  stockbroker;  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  him  to 
convert  my  five  per  cent  stock  into  the  threes,  and  the  three 
per  cents  had  fallen  during  the  day.' 

"I  looked  at  her,  and  my  e3'-es  glittered  with  anger.  Some- 
times a  crime  may  be  a  whole  romance;  I  understood  that 
just  then.  She  was  so  accustomed,  no  doubt,  to  the  most  im- 
passioned declarations  of  this  kind,  that  my  words  and  my 
tears  were  forgotten  already. 

"'Would  you  marry  a  peer  of  France?'  I  demanded 
abruptly. 

"  'If  he  were  a  duke,  I  might.' 

"I  seized  my  hat  and  made  her  a  bow. 

"  'Permit  me  to  accompany  you  to  the  door,'  she  said, 
cutting  irony  in  her  tones,  in  the  poise  of  her  head,  and  in  her 
gesture. 

"  'Madame '■ 

"'Monsieur?' 

"  'I  shall  never  see  you  again.' 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         149 

*'  '1  hope  not/  and  she  insolently  inclined  her  head. 

"  'You  wish  to  be  a  duchess  ?'  I  cried,  excited  by  a  sort  of 
madness  that  her  insolence  roused  in  me.  'You  are  wild 
for  honors  and  titles  ?  Well,  only  let  me  love  you ;  bid  my 
pen  write  and  my  voice  speak  for  you  alone;  be  the  inmost 
Boul  of  my  life,  my  guiding  star !  Then,  only  accept  me  for 
your  husband  as  a  minister,  a  peer  of  France,  a  duke.  I 
will  make  of  myself  whatever  you  would  have  me  be !' 

"  'You  made  good  use  of  the  time  you  spent  with  the  ad- 
vocate,' she  said,  smiling.  'There  is  a  fervency  about  your 
pleadings.' 

"  'The  present  is  yours,'  I  cried;  'but  the  future  is  mine ! 
I  only  lose  a  woman;  you  are  losing  a  name  and  a  family. 
Time  is  big  with  my  revenge;  time  will  spoil  your  beauty, 
and  yours  will  be  a  solitary  death;  and  glory  waits  for 
me!' 

"  'Thanks  for  your  peroration !'  she  said,  repressing  a  yawn; 
the  wish  that  she  might  never  see  me  again  was  expressed 
in  her  whole  bearing. 

"That  remark  silenced  me.  I  flung  at  her  a  glance  full  of 
hatred,  and  hurried  away. 

"Foedora  must  be  forgotten;  I  must  cure  myself  of  my  in- 
fatuation, and  betake  myself  once  more  to  my  lonely  studies, 
or  die.  So  I  set  myself  tremendous  tasks;  I  determined  to 
complete  my  labors.  For  fifteen  days  I  never  left  my  garret, 
spending  whole  nights  in  pallid  thought.  I  worked  with 
difficulty,  and  by  fits  and  starts,  despite  my  courage  and 
the  stimulation  of  despair.  The  muse  had  fled.  I  could  not 
exorcise  the  brilliant  mocking  image  of  Foedora.  Something 
morbid  brooded  over  every  thought,  a  vague  longing  as  dread- 
ful as  remorse.  I  imitated  the  anchorites  of  the  Thebaid. 
If  I  did  not  pray  as  they  did,  I  lived  a  life  in  the  desert 
like  theirs,  hewing  out  my  ideas  as  they  were  wont  to  hew 
their  rocks.  I  could  at  need  have  girdled  my  waist  with 
spikes,  that  physical  suffering  might  quell  mental  anguish. 

"One  evening  Pauline  found  her  way  into  my  room. 


150  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"  *You  are  killing  yourself,'  she  said,  imploringly ;  'yon 
should  go  out  and  see  your  friends ' 

"  'Pauline,  you  were  a  true  prophet ;  Fcedora  is  killing  me, 
I  want  to  die.     My  life  is  intolerable/ 

"  'Is  there  only  one  woman  in  the  world  ?'  she  asked,  smil- 
ing.    'Why  make  yourself  so  miserable  in  so  short  a  life  ?' 

"I  looked  at  Pauline  in  bewilderment.  She  left  me  before 
I  noticed  her  departure ;  the  sound  of  her  words  had  reached 
me,  but  not  their  sense.  Very  soon  I  had  to  take  my 
Memoirs  in  manuscript  to  my  literary-contractor.  I  was 
so  absorbed  by  my  passion,  that  I  could  not  remember  how 
I  had  managed  to  live  without  money;  I  only  knew  that  the 
four  hundred  and  fifty  francs  due  to  me  would  pay  my  debts. 
So  I  went  to  receive  my  salary,  and  met  Kastignac,  who 
thought  me  changed  and  thinner. 

"  'What  hospital  have  you  been  discharged  from  ?'  he 
asked. 

"  'That  woman  is  killing  me/  I  answered ;  1  can  neither 
despise  her  nor  forget  her.' 

"  'You  had  much  better  kill  her,  then  perhaps  you  would 
think  no  n^ore  of  her,'  he  said,  laughing. 

"  'I  have  often  thought  of  it,'  I  replied ;  'but  though  some- 
times the  thought  of  a  crime  revives  my  spirits,  of  violence 
and  murder,  either  or  both,  I  am  really  incapable  of  carrying 
out  the  design.  The  countess  is  an  admirable  monster  who 
would  crave  for  pardon,  and  not  every  man  is  an  Othello.' 

"  'She  is  like  every  woman  who  is  beyond  our  reach,'  Eas- 
tignac  interrupted. 

"  'I  am  mad,'  I  cried ;  'I  can  feel  the  madness  raging  at 
times  in  my  brain.  My  ideas  are  like  shadows;  they  flit  be- 
fore me,  and  I  cannot  grasp  them.  Death  would  be  pref- 
erable to  this  life,  and  I  have  carefully  considered  the  best 
way  of  putting  an  end  to  the  struggle.  I  am  not  thinking 
of  the  living  Foedora  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Honore,  but 
of  my  Foedora  here,'  and  I  tapped  my  forehead.  'What  do 
vou  say  to  opium  ?' 

"  'Pshaw !  horrid  agonies/  said  Eastignac. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         151 

'*  *0r  charcoal  fumes  ?' 

"  'A  low  dodge/ 

«*0r  the  Seine?' 

"  'The  drag-nets,  and  the  Morgue  too,  are  filthy/ 
'A  pistol-shot?' 

*And  if  you  miscalculate,  you  disfigure  yourself  for  life. 
Listen  to  me,'  he  went  on,  'like  all  young  men,  I  have  pon- 
dered over  suicide.  Which  of  us  hasn't  killed  himself  two  or 
three  times  before  he  is  thirty?  I  find  there  is  no  better 
course  than  to  use  existence  as  a  means  of  pleasure.  Go  in 
for  thorough  dissipation,  and  your  passion  or  you  will  perish 
in  it.  Intemperance,  my  dear  fellow,  commands  all  forms 
of  death.  Does  she  not  wield  the  thunderbolt  of  apoplexy? 
Apoplexy  is  a  pistol-shot  that  does  not  miscalculate.  Orgies 
are  lavish  in  all  physical  pleasures;  is  not  that  the  small 
change  for  opium?  And  the  riot  that  makes  us  drink  to 
excess  bears  a  challenge  to  mortal  combat  with  wine.  That 
butt  of  Malmsey  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence's  must  have  had  a 
pleasanter  flavor  than  Seine  mud.  When  we  sink  gloriously 
under  the  table,  is  not  that  a  periodical  death  by  drowning 
on  a  small  scale?  If  we  are  picked  up  by  the  police  and 
stretched  out  on  those  chilly  benches  of  theirs  at  the  police- 
station,  do  we  not  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  of  the  Morgue  ?  For 
though  we  are  not  blue  and  green,  muddy  and  swollen  corpses, 
on  the  other  hand  we  have  the  consciousness  of  the  climax. 

"  'Ah,'  he  went  on,  'this  protracted  suicide  has  nothing 
in  common  with  a  bankrupt  grocer's  demise.  Tradespeople 
have  brought  the  river  into  disrepute ;  they  fling  themselves  in 
to  soften  their  creditors'  hearts.  In  your  place  I  should  en- 
deavor to  die  gracefully;  and  if  you  wish  to  invent  a  novel 
way  of  doing  it,  by  struggling  with  life  after  this  manner,  I 
will  be  your  second.  I  am  disappointed  and  sick  of  every- 
thing. The  Alsacienne,  whom  it  was  proposed  that  I  should 
marry,  had  six  toes  on  her  left  foot ;  I  cannot  possibly  live  with 
a  woman  who  has  six  toes  !  It  would  get  about  to  a  certainty, 
and  then  I  should  be  ridiculous.  Her  income  was  only 
eighteen  thousand  francs ;  her  fortune  diminished  in  quantity 


152  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

as  her  toes  increased.  The  devil  take  it,  if  we  begin 
an  outrageous  sort  of  life,  we  may  come  on  some  bit  of  luck, 
perhaps  V 

"Eastignac's  eloquence  carried  me  aM^ay.     The  attractions 
of  the  plan  shone  too  temptingly,  hopes  were  kindled,  the 
poetical  aspects  of  the  matter  appealed  to  a  poet. 
'How  about  money  ?'  I  said. 
'Haven't  you  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ?' 

'Yes,  but  debts  to  my  landlady  and  the  tailor ' 

'You  would  pay  your  tailor?     You  will  never  be  any- 
thing whatever,  not  so  much  as  a  minister.' 
"  'But  what  can  one  do  with  twenty  louis  ?' 
"  'Go  to  the  gaming-table.' 
"I  shuddered. 

"  'You  are  going  to  launch  out  into  what  I  call  systematic 
dissipation,'  said  he,  noticing  my  scruples,  'and  yet  you  are 
afraid  of  a  green  table-cloth.' 

"  'Listen  to  me,'  I  answered.  'I  promised  my  father  never 
to  set  foot  in  a  gaming-house.  Not  only  is  that  a  sacred 
promise,  but  I  still  feel  an  unconquerable  disgust  whenever 
I  pass  a  gambling-hell;  take  the  money  and  go  without  me. 
While  our  fortune  is  at  stake,  I  will  set  my  own  affairs 
straight,  and  then  I  will  go  to  your  lodgings  and  wait  for 
you.' 

"That  was  the  way  I  went  to  perdition.  A  young  man  has 
only  to  come  across  a  woman  who  will  not  love  him,  or  a 
woman  who  loves  him  too  well,  and  his  whole  life  becomes  a 
chaos.  Prosperity  swallows  up  our  energy  just  as  adversity 
obscures  our  virtues.  Back  once  more  in  my  Hotel  de  Saint- 
Quentin,  I  gazed  about  me  a  long  while  in  the  garret  where 
I  had  led  my  scholar's  temperate  life,  a  life  which  would  per- 
haps have  been  a  long  and  honorable  one,  and  that  I  ought 
not  to  have  quitted  for  the  fevered  existence  which  had  urged 
me  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  Pauline  surprised  me  in  this 
dejected  attitude. 

"  'Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?'  she  asked. 

"I  rose  and  quietly  counted  out  the  money  owing  to  her 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         153 

mother,  and  added  to  it  sufficient  to  pay  for  six  months'  rent 
in  advance.     She  watched  me  in  some  alarm, 

"  'I  am  going  to  leave  you,  dear  Pauline/ 

"  'I  knew  it !'  she  exclaimed. 

"  'Listen,  my  child.  I  have  not  given  up  the  idea  of  com- 
ing back.  Keep  my  room  for  me  for  six  months.  If  I  do  not 
return  by  the  fifteenth  of  November,  you  will  come  into 
possession  of  my  things.  This  sealed  packet  of  manuscript  is 
the  fair  copy  of  my  great  work  on  "The  Will," '  I  went  on, 
pointing  to  a  package.  'Will  you  deposit  it  in  the  King's 
Library  ?  And  you  may  do  as  you  wish  with  everything  that 
is  left  here.' 

"Her  look  weighed  heavily  on  my  heart;  Pauline  was  an 
embodiment  of  conscience  there  before  me. 

"  'I  shall  have  no  more  lessons/  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
piano. 

"I  did  not  answer  that. 

"  'Will  you  write  to  me  ?' 

"  'Good-bye,  Pauline.' 

"I  gently  drew  her  towards  me,  and  set  a  kiss  on  that  in- 
nocent fair  brow  of  hers,  like  snow  that  has  not  yet  touched 
the  earth — a  father's  or  a  brother's  kiss.  She  fled.  I  would 
not  see  Madame  Gaudin,  hung  my  key  in  its  wonted  place, 
and  departed.  I  was  almost  at  the  end  of  the  Eue  de  Cluny 
when  I  heard  a  woman's  light  footstep  behind  me. 

"  'I  have  embroidered  this  purse  for  you,'  Pauline  said ; 
'will  you  refuse  even  that?' 

"By  the  light  of  the  street  lamp  I  thought  I  saw  tears  in 
Pauline's  eyes,  and  I  groaned.  Moved  perhaps  by  a  com- 
mon impulse,  we  parted  in  haste  like  people  who  fear  the  con- 
tagion of  the  plague. 

"As  I  waited  with  dignified  calmness  for  Rastignac's  return, 
his  room  seemed  a  grotesque  interpretation  of  the  sort  of 
life  I  was  about  to  enter  upon.  The  clock  on  the  chimney- 
piece  was  surmounted  by  a  Venus  resting  on  her  tortoise;  a 
half-smoked  cigar  lay  in  her  arms.  Costly  furniture  of 
various  kinds — love  tokens,  very  likely — was  scattered  about. 


1J4  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

Old  shoes  lay  on  a  luxurious  sofa.  The  comfortable  arm- 
chair into  which  I  had  thrown  myself  bore  as  many  scars  as  a 
veteran ;  the  arms  were  gashed,  the  back  was  overlaid  with  a 
thick,  stale  deposit  of  pomade  and  hair-oil  from  the  heads 
of  all  his  visitors.  Splendor  and  squalor  were  oddly  mingled, 
on  the  walls,  the  bed,  and  everywhere.  You  might  have 
thought  of  a  Neapolitan  palace  and  the  groups  of  lazzaroni 
about  it.  It  was  the  room  of  a  gambler  or  a  mauvais  sujet, 
where  the  luxury  exists  merely  for  one  individual,  who  leads 
the  life  of  the  senses  and  does  not  trouble  himself  over  in- 
consistencies. 

"There  was  a  certain  imaginative  element  about  the  picture 
it  presented.  Life  was  suddenly  revealed  there  in  its  rags  and 
spangles  as  the  incomplete  thing  it  really  is,  of  course,  but  so 
vividly  and  picturesquely ;  it  was  like  a  den  where  a  brigand 
has  heaped  up  all  the  plunder  in  which  he  delights.  Some 
pages  were  missing  from  a  copy  of  Byron^s  poems :  they  had 
gone  to  light  a  fire  of  a  few  sticks  for  this  young  person,  who 
played  for  stakes  of  a  thousand  francs,  and  had  not  a  faggot ; 
who  kept  a  tilbury,  and  had  not  a  whole  shirt  to  his  back. 
Any  day  a  countess  or  an  actress  or  a  run  of  luck  at  ecarte 
might  set  him  up  with  an  outfit  worthy  of  a  king.  A  candle 
had  been  stuck  into  the  green  bronze  sheath  of  a  vesta- 
holder;  a  woman's  portrait  lay  yonder,  torn  out  of  its  carved 
gold  setting.  How  was  it  possible  that  a  young  man,  whose 
nature  craved  excitement,  could  renounce  a  life  so  attractive 
by  reason  of  its  contradictions;  a  life  that  afforded  all  the 
delights  of  war  in  the  midst  of  peace?  I  was  growing 
drowsy  when  Eastignac  kicked  the  door  open  and  shouted : 

"  'Victory  !     Now  we  can  take  our  time  about  dying.' 

"He  held  out  his  hat  filled  with  gold  to  me,  and  put  it 
down  on  the  table;  then  we  pranced  round  it  like  a  pair  of 
cannibals  about  to  eat  a  victim;  we  stamped,  and  danced, 
and  yelled,  and  sang;  we  gave  each  other  blows  fit  to  kill 
an  elephant,  at  sight  of  all  the  pleasures  of  the  world  contained 
in  that  hat. 

"  'Twenty-seven  thousand  francs,'  said  Eastignac,  adding  a 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  155 

few  bank-notes  to  the  pile  of  gold.  *That  would  be  enough 
for  other  folk  to  live  upon ;  will  it  be  sufficient  for  us  to  die 
on?  Yes!  we  will  breathe  our  last  in  a  bath  of  gold — 
hurrah !'  and  we  capered  afresh. 

"We  divided  the  windfall.  We  began  with  double- 
napoleons,  and  came  down  to  the  smaller  coins,  one  bj  one. 
'This  for  you,  this  for  me,'  we  kept  on  saying,  distilling  our 
joy  drop  by  drop. 

"  'We  won't  go  to  sleep,'  cried  Eastignac.  'Joseph !  some, 
punch !' 

"He  threw  gold  to  his  faithful  attendant. 

"  'There  is  your  share,'  he  said ;  'go  and  bury  yourself  if 
you  can.' 

"Next  day  I  went  to  Lesage  and  chose  my  furniture,  took 
the  rooms  that  you  know  in  the  Eue  Taitbout,  and  left  the 
decoration  to  one  of  the  best  upholsterers.  I  bought  horses. 
I  plunged  into  a  vortex  of  pleasures,  at  once  hollow  and 
real.  1  went  in  for  play,  gaining  and  losing  enormous  sums, 
but  only  at  friends'  houses  and  in  ballrooms ;  never  in  gaming- 
houses, for  which  I  still  retained  the  holy  horror  of  my  early 
days.  Without  meaning  it,  I  made  some  friends,  either 
through  quarrels  or  owing  to  the  easy  confidence  established 
among  those  who  are  going  to  the  bad  together;  nothing, 
possibly,  makes  us  cling  to  one  another  so  tightly  as  our  evil 
propensities. 

"I  made  several  ventures  in  literature,  which  were  flatter- 
ingly received.  Great  men  who  followed  the  profession  of 
letters,  having  nothing  to  fear  from  me,  belauded  me,  not  so 
much  on  account  of  my  merits  as  to  cast  a  slur  on  those  of 
their  rivals. 

"I  became  a  'free-liver,'  to  make  use  of  the  picturesque 
expression  appropriated  by  the  language  of  excess.  I  made 
it  a  point  of  honor  not  to  be  long  about  dying,  and  that  my 
zeal  and  prowess  should  eclipse  those  displayed  by  all  others  in 
the  jolliest  company.  I  was  always  spruce  and  carefully 
dressed.  I  had  some  reputation  for  cleverness.  There  was 
no  sign  about  me  of  that  fearful  way  of  living  which  makes 


156  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

a  man  into  a  mere  digesting  apparatus,  a  funnel,  a  pampered 
beast. 

"Very  soon  Debauch  rose  before  me  in  all  the  majesty  of 
its  horror,  and  I  grasped  all  that  it  meant.  Those  prudent, 
steady-going  characters  who  are  laying  down  wine  in  bottles 
for  their  heirs,  can  barely  conceive,  it  is  true,  of  so  wide  a 
theory  of  life,  nor  appreciate  its  normal  condition ;  but  when 
will  you  instill  poetry  into  the  provincial  intellect?  Opium 
and  tea,  with  all  their  delights,  are  merely  drugs  to  folk  of 
that  calibre. 

"Is  not  the  imperfect  sybarite  to  be  met  with  even  in  Paris 
itself,  that  intellectual  metropolis?  Unfit  to  endure  the 
fatigues  of  pleasure,  this  sort  of  person,  after  a  drinking 
bout,  is  very  much  like  those  worthy  bourgeois  who  fall  foul 
of  music  after  hearing  a  new  opera  by  Eossini.  Does  he  not 
renounce  these  courses  in  the  same  frame  of  mind  that  leads 
an  abstemious  man  to  forswear  Euffec  pates,  because  the 
first  one,  forsooth,  gave  him  the  indigestion? 

"Debauch  is  as  surely  an  art  as  poetry,  and  is  not  for  craven 
spirits.  To  penetrate  its  mysteries  and  appreciate  its  charms, 
conscientious  application  is  required;  and  as  with  every  path 
of  knowledge,  the  way  is  thorny  and  forbidding  at  the  outset. 
The  great  pleasures  of  humanity  are  hedged  about  with 
formidable  obstacles;  not  its  single  enjoyments,  but  enjoy- 
ment as  a  system,  a  system  which  establishes  seldom  ex- 
perienced sensations  and  makes  them  habitual,  which  concen- 
trates and  multiplies  them  for  us,  creating  a  dramatic  life 
"within  our  life,  and  imperatively  demanding  a  prompt  and 
enormous  expenditure  of  vitality.  War,  Power,  Art,  like 
Debauch, are  all  forms  of  demoralization,  equally  remote  from 
the  faculties  of  humanity,  equally  profound,  and  all  are 
alike  difficult  of  access.  But  when  man  has  once  stormed  the 
heights  of  these  grand  mysteries,  does  he  not  walk  in  another 
world  ?  Are  not  generals,  ministers,  and  artists  carried,  more 
or  less,  towards  destruction  by  the  need  of  violent  distractions 
in  an  existence  so  remote  from  ordinary  life  as  theirs? 

**War,  after  all,  is  the  Excess  of  bloodshed,  as  the  Excess 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  157 

of  self-interest  produces  Politics.  Excesses  of  every  sort  are 
brothers.  These  social  enormities  possess  the  attraction  of 
the  abyss;  they  draw  us  towards  themselves  as  St.  Helena 
beckoned  Napoleon;  we  are  fascinated,  our  heads  swim,  we 
wish  to  sound  their  depths  though  we  cannot  account  for 
the  wish.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  Infinity  dwells  in  these 
precipices,  perhaps  they  contain  some  colossal  flattery  for 
the  soul  of  man;  for  is  he  not,  then,  wholly  absorbed  in 
himself  ? 

"The  wearied  artist  needs  a  complete  contrast  to  his 
paradise  of  imaginings  and  of  studious  hours;  he  either 
craves,  like  God,  the  seventh  day  of  rest,  or  with  Satan,  the 
pleasures  of  hell;  so  that  his  senses  may  have  free  play  in 
opposition  to  the  employment  of  his  faculties.  Byron  could 
never  have  taken  for  his  relaxation  to  the  independent  gen- 
tleman's delights  of  boston  and  gossip,  for  he  was  a  j)oet,  and 
so  must  needs  pit  Greece  against  Mahmoud. 

"In  war,  is  not  man  an  angel  of  extirpation,  a  sort  of  ex- 
ecutioner on  a  gigantic  scale?  Must  not  the  spell  be  strong 
indeed  that  makes  us  undergo  such  horrid  sufferings  so 
hostile  to  our  weak  frames,  sufferings  that  encircle  every 
strong  passion  with  a  hedge  of  thorns  ?  The  tobacco  smoker 
is  seized  with  convulsions,  and  goes  through  a  kind  of  agony 
consequent  upon  his  excesses ;  but  has  he  not  borne  a  part  in 
delightful  festivals  in  realms  unknown?  Has  Europe  ever 
ceased  from  wars  ?  She  has  never  given  herself  time  to  wipe 
the  stains  from  her  feet  that  are  steeped  in  blood  to  the  anlde. 
Mankind  at  large  is  carried  away  by  fits  of  intoxication,  as 
nature  has  its  accessions  of  love. 

"For  men  in  private  life,  for  a  vegetating  Mirabeau  dream- 
ing of  storms  in  a  time  of  calm.  Excess  comprises  all  things ; 
it  perpetually  embraces  the  whole  sum  of  life ;  it  is  something 
better  still — it  is  a  duel  with  an  antagonist  of  unknown  power, 
a  monster,  terrible  at  first  sight,  that  must  be  seized  by  the 
horns,  a  labor  that  cannot  be  imagined. 

"Suppose  that  nature  has  endowed  you  with  a  feeble 
stomach  or  one  of  limited  capacity;  you  acquire  a  mastery 


158  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

over  it  and  improve  it ;  you  learn  to  carry  your  liquor ;  you 
grow  accustomed  to  being  drunk;  you  pass  whole  nights 
without  sleep;  at  last  you  acquire  the  constitution  of  a 
colonel  of  cuirassiers;  and  in  this  way  you  create  yourself 
afresh,  as  if  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence. 

"A  man  transformed  after  this  sort  is  like  a  neophyte  who 
has  at  last  become  a  veteran,  has  accustomed  his  mind  to 
shot  and  shell  and  his  legs  to  lengthy  marches.  When  the 
monster's  hold  on  him  is  still  uncertain,  and  it  is  not  yet 
known  which  will  have  the  better  of  it,  they  roll  over  and  over, 
alternately  victor  and  vanquished,  in  a  world  where  everything 
is  wonderful,  where  every  ache  of  the  soul  is  laid  to  sleep, 
where  only  the  shadows  of  ideas  are  revived. 

"This  furious  struggle  has  already  become  a  necessity  for 
us.  The  prodigal  has  struck  a  bargain  for  all  the  enjoy- 
ments with  which  life  teems  abundantly,  at  the  price  of  his 
own  death,  like  the  mythical  persons  in  legends  who  sold  them- 
selves to  the  devil  for  the  power  of  doing  evil.  For  them, 
instead  of  flowing  quietly  on  in  its  monotonous  course  in  the 
depths  of  some  counting-house  or  study,  life  is  poured  out  in 
a  boiling  torrent. 

"Excess  is,  in  short,  for  the  body  what  the  mystic's  ecstasy 
is  for  the  soul.  Intoxication  steeps  you  in  fantastic  imag- 
inings every  whit  as  strange  as  those  of  ecstatics.  You  know 
hours  as  full  of  rapture  as  a  young  girl's  dreams;  you 
travel  without  fatigue ;  you  chat  pleasantly  with  your  friends ; 
words  come  to  you  with  a  whole  life  in  each,  and  fresh 
pleasures  without  regrets;  poems  are  set  forth  for  you  in  a 
few  brief  phrases.  The  coarse  animal  satisfaction,  in  which 
science  has  tried  to  find  a  sonl,  is  followed  by  the  enchanted 
drowsiness  that  men  sigh  for  under  the  burden  of  conscious- 
ness. Is  it  not  because  they  all  feel  the  need  of  absolute  re- 
pose? Because  Excess  is  a  sort  of  toll  that  genius  pays  to 
pain? 

"Look  at  all  great  men;  nature  made  them  pleasure- 
loving  or  base,  every  one.  Some  mocking  or  Jealous  power 
corrupted  them  in  either  soul  or  body,  so  as  to  make  all  their' 
powers  futile,  and  their  efforts  of  no  avail. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  159 

"All  men  and  all  things  appear  before  you  in  the  gnise 
yon  choose,  in  those  hours  when  wine  has  sway.  You  are 
lord  of  all  creation ;  you  transform  it  at  your  pleasure.  And 
throughout  this  unceasing  delirium,  Play  may  pour,  at  your 
will,  its  molten  lead  into  your  veins. 

"Some  day  you  will  fall  into  the  monster's  power.  Then 
you  will  have,  as  I  had,  a  frenzied  awakening,  with  impotence 
sitting  by  your  pillow.  Are  you  an  old  soldier?  Phthisis 
attacks  you.  A  diplomatist  ?  An  aneurism  hangs  death  in 
your  heart  by  a  thread.  It  will  perhaps  be  consumption  that 
will  cry  to  me,  'Let  us  be  going !'  as  to  Raphael  of  Urbino,  in 
old  time,  killed  by  an  excess  of  love. 

"In  this  way  I  have  existed.  I  was  launched  into  the  world 
too  early  or  too  late.  My  energy  would  have  been  dangerous 
there,  no  doubt,  if  I  had  not  squandered  it  in  such  ways  as 
these.  Was  not  the  world  rid  of  an  Alexander,  by  the  cup  of 
Hercules,  at  the  close  of  a  drinking  bout  ? 

"There  are  some,  the  sport  of  Destiny,  who  must  either  have 
heaven  or  hell,  the  hospice  of  St.  Bernard  or  riotous  excess. 
Only  just  now  I  lacked  the  h'eart  to  moralize  about  those 
two,"  and  he  pointed  to  Euphrasia  and  Aquilina.  "They  are 
types  of  my  own  personal  history,  images  of  my  life !  I 
could  scarcely  reproach  them;  they  stood  before  me  like 
judges. 

"In  the  midst  of  this  drama  that  T  was  enacting,  and  while 
my  distracting  disorder  was  at  its  heisrht,  two  crises  super- 
vened ;  each  brought  me  keen  and  abundant  pansrs.  1  he 
first  came  a  few  days  after  I  had  flung  myself,  ]  ke 
Sardanapalus,  on  my  pyre.  I  met  rnr^dora  under  the  nerls^yle 
of  the  Bouffons.  We  both  were  waiting  for  our  carriages. 
.     "  'Ah  !  so  you  are  living  yet  ?' 

"That  was  the  meaning  of  her  smile,  and  probably  of  the 
spiteful  words  she  murmured  in  the  ear  of  her  cicisheo,  telling 
him  my  history  no  doubt,  rating  mine  as  a  common  love  affair. 
She  was  deceived,  yet  she  was  applauding  her  perspicacity. 
Oh,  that  I  should  be  dying  for  her,  must  still  adore  her,  al- 
ways see  her  through  my  potations,  see  her  still  when  I  was 


160  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

overcome  with  wine,  or  in  the  arms  of  courtesans ;  and  know 
that  I  was  a  target  for  her  scornful  jests !  Oh,  that  I  should 
be  unable  to  tear  the  love  of  her  out  of  my  breast  and  to  fling 
it  at  her  feet ! 

'^ell,  I  quickly  exhausted  my  funds,  but  owing  to  those 
three  years  of  discipline,  I  enjoyed  the  most  robust  health, 
and  on  the  day  that  1  found  myself  without  a  penny  I  felt 
remarkably  well.  In  order  to  carry  on  the  process  of  dying, 
I  signed  bills  at  short  dates,  and  the  day  came  when  they  must 
be  met.  Painful  excitements !  but  how  they  quicken  the 
pulses  of  youth !  I  was  not  prematurely  aged ;  I  was  young 
yet,  and  full  of  vigor  and  life. 

"At  my  first  debt  all  my  virtues  came  to  life;  slowly  and 
despairingly  they  seemed  to  pace  towards  me;  but  I  could 
compound  with  them — they  were  like  aged  aunts  that  be- 
gin with  a  scolding  and  end  by  bestowing  tears  and  money 
upon  you. 

"Imagination  was  less  yielding;  I  saw  my  name  bandied 
about  through  every  city  in  Europe.  'One's  name  is  one- 
self,' says  Eusebe  Salverte.  After  these  excursions  I  re- 
turned to  the  room  I  had  never  quitted,  like  a  doppel- 
ganger  in  a  German  tale,  and  came  to  myself  with  a  start. 

"I  used  to  see  with  indifference  a  banl^er's  messenger  going 
on  his  errands  through  the  streets  of  Paris,  like  a  commercial 
Nemesis,  wearing  his  master's  livery — a  gray  coat  and  a  silver 
badge;  but  now  I  hated  the  species  in  advance.  One  of 
them  came  one  morning  to  ask  me  to  meet  some  eleven  bills 
that  I  had  scrawled  my  name  upon.  My  signature  was 
worth  three  thousand  francs !  Taking  me  altogether,  I  my- 
self was  not  worth  that  amount.  Sheriff's  deputies  rose  up 
before  me,  turning  their  callous  faces  upon  my  despair,  as 
the  hangman  regards  the  criminal  to  whom  he  says,  'It  has 
just  struck  half-past  three.'  I  was  in  the  power  of  their 
clerks;  they  could  scribble  my  name,  drag  it  through  the 
mire,  and  jeer  at  it.  I  was  a  defaulter.  Has  a  debtor  any 
right  to  '^limself  ?  Could  not  other  men  call  me  to  account 
for  my  way  of  living?     Why  had  I  eaten  puddings  a  la 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  161 

cKipolata?  Why  had  I  iced  my  wine?  Why  had  I  slept, 
or  walked,  or  thought,  or  amused  myself  when  I  had  not  paid 
them? 

"A^  any  moment,  in  the  middle  of  a  poem,  during  some 
train  of  thought,  or  while  I  was  gaily  breakfasting  in  the 
pleasant  company  of  my  friends,  I  might  look  to  see  a  gentle- 
man enter  in  a  coat  of  chestnut-brown,  with  a  shabby  hat  in 
his  hand.  This  gentleman's  appearance  would  signify  my 
debt,  the  bill  I  had  drawn;  the  spectre  would  compel  me  to 
leave  the  table  to  speak  to  him,  blight  my  spirits,  despoil  me 
of  my  cheerfulness,  of  my  mistress,  of  all  I  possessed,  down 
to  my  very  bedstead. 

"Eemorse  itself  is  more  easily  endured.  Eemorse  does  not 
drive  us  into  the  street  nor  into  the  prison  of  Sainte-Pelagie; 
it  does  not  force  us  into  the  detestable  sink  of  vice.  Re- 
morse only  brings  us  to  the  scaffold,  where  the  executioner  in- 
vests us  with  a  certain  dignity ;  as  we  pay  the  extreme  penalty, 
everybody  believes  in  our  innocence ;  but  people  will  not  credit 
a  penniless  prodigal  with  a  single  virtue. 

"My  debts  had  other  incarnations.  There  is  the  kind  that 
goes  about  on  two  feet,  in  a  green  cloth  coat,  and  blue 
spectacles,  carrying  umbrellas  of  various  hues ;  you  come  face 
to  face  with  him  at  the  corner  of  some  street,  in  the  midst 
of  your  mirth.  These  have  the  detestable  prerogative  of 
saying,  'M.  de  Valentin  owes  me  something,  and  does  not 
pay.  I  have  a  hold  on  him.  He  had  better  not  show  me  any 
offensive  airs !'  You  must  bow  to  your  creditors,  and  more- 
over bow  politely.  ^Vhen  are  you  going  to  pay  me  ?'  say  they. 
And  you  must  lie,  and  beg  money  of  another  man,  and  cringe 
to  a  fool  seated  on  his  strong-box,  and  receive  sour  looks  in 
return  from  these  horse-leeches;  a  blow  would  be  less  hate- 
ful ;  you  must  put  up  with  their  crass  ignorance  and  calculat- 
ing morality.  A  debt  is  a  feat  of  the  imaginative  that  they 
cannot  appreciate.  A  borrower  is  often  carried  away  and  over- 
mastered by  generoii?  impulses;  nothing  great,  nothing 
magnanimous  can  move  or  dominate  those  who  live  for  money. 


J62  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

and  recognize  nothing  but  money.  I  myself  held  money  in 
abhorrence. 

"Or  a  bill  may  undergo  a  final  transformation  into  some 
meritorious  old  man  with  a  family  dependent  upon  him.  My 
creditor  might  be  a  living  picture  for  Greuze,  a  paralytic 
with  his  children  round  him,  a  soldier's  widow,  holding  out 
beseeching  hands  to  me.  Terrible  creditors  are  these  with 
whom  we  are  forced  to  sympathize,  and  when  their  claims 
i  are  satisfied  we  owe  them  a  further  debt  of  assistance. 

"The  night  before  the  bills  fell  due,  I  lay  down  with  the 
false  calm  of  those  who  sleep  before  their  approaching  execu- 
tion, or  with  a  duel  in  prospect,  rocked  as  they  are  by  delu- 
sive hopes.  But  when  I  woke,  when  I  was  cool  and  collected, 
when  I  found  myself  imprisoned  in  a  banker's  portfolio,  and 
floundering  in  statements  covered  with  red  ink — then  my 
debts  sprang  up  everywhere,  like  grasshoppers,  before  my  eyes. 
There  were  my  debts,  my  clock,  my  armchairs ;  my  debts  were 
inlaid  in  the  very  furniture  which  I  liked  best  to  use.  These 
gentle  inanimate  slaves  were  to  fall  a  prey  to  the  harpies  of 
the  Chatelet,  were  to  be  carried  off  by  the  broker's  men,  and 
brutally  thrown  on  the  market.  Ah,  my  property  was  a  part 
of  myself ! 

"The  sound  of  the  door-bell  rang  through  my  heart ;  while 
it  seemed  to  strike  at  me,  where  kings  should  be  struck  at 
— in  the  head.  Mine  was  a  martyrdom,  without  heaven  for 
its  reward.  For  a  magnanimous  nature,  debt  is  a  hell,  and  a 
hell,  moreover,  with  sheriff's  officers  and  brokers  in  it.  An 
undischarged  debt  is  something  mean  and  sordid;  it  is  a 
beginning  of  knavery ;  it  is  something  worse,  it  is  a  lie ;  it  pre- 
pares the  way  for  crime,  and  brings  together  the  planks  for 
the  scaffold.  My  bills  were  protested.  Three  days  after- 
wards I  met  them,  and  this  is  how  it  happened. 

"A  speculator  came,  offering  to  buy  the  island  in  the  Loire 
belonging  to  me,  where  my  mother  lay  buried.  I  closed 
with  him.  When  I  went  to  his  solicitor  to  sign  the  deeds,  I 
felt  a  cavern-like  chill  in  the  dark  office  that  made  me 
shudder;  it  was  the  same  cold  dampness  that  had  laid  hold 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         163 

upon  me  at  the  brink  of  my  father's  grave.  I  looked  upon 
this  as  an  evil  omen,  I  seemed  to  see  the  shade  of  my  mother, 
and  to  hear  her  voice.  What  power  was  it  that  made  my  own 
name  ring  vaguely  in  my  ears,  in  spite  of  the  clamor  of 
bells? 

"The  money  paid  down  for  my  island,  when  all  my  debts 
were  discharged,  left  me  in  possession  of  two  thousand  francs. 
I  could  now  have  returned  to  a  scholar's  tranquil  life,  it  ia 
true ;  I  could  have  gone  back  to  my  garret  after  having  gained 
an  experience  of  life,  with  my  head  filled  with  the  results  of 
extensive  observation,  and  with  a  certain  sort  of  reputation 
attaching  to  me.  But  Foedora's  hold  upon  her  victim  was 
not  relaxed.  We  often  met.  I  compelled  her  admirers  to 
sound  my  name  in  her  ears,  by  dint  of  astonishing  them  with 
my  cleverness  and  success,  with  my  horses  and  equipages.  It 
all  found  her  impassive  and  uninterested;  so  did  an  ugly 
phrase  of  Eastignac's,  'He  is  killing  himself  for  you.' 

"I  charged  the  world  at  large  with  my  revenge,  but  I  was 
not  happy.  While  I  was  fathoming  the  miry  depths  of  life, 
I  only  recognized  the  more  keenly  at  all  times  the  happiness 
of  reciprocal  affection;  it  was  a  shadow  that  I  followed 
through  all  that  befell  me  in  my  extravagance,  and  in  my 
wildest  moments.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  be  deceived  in 
my  fairest  beliefs,  to  be  punished  by  ingratitude  for  benefiting 
others,  and  to  receive  uncounted  pleasures  as  the  reward 
of  my  errors — a  sinister  doctrine,  but  a  true  one  for  the 
prodigal ! 

"The  contagious  leprosy  of  Fcedora's  vanity  had  taken  hold 
of  me  at  last.  I  probed  my  soul,  and  found  it  cankered  and 
rotten.  I  bore  the  marks  of  the  devil's  claw  upon  my  fore- 
head. It  was  impossible  to  me  thenceforward  to  do  without 
the  incessant  agitation  of  a  life  fraught  with  danger  at  every 
moment,  or  to  dispense  with  the  execrable  refinements  of 
luxury.  If  I  had  possessed  millions,  I  should  still  have 
gambled,  reveled,  and  racketed  about.  I  wished  never  to  be 
alone  with  myself,  and  I  must  have  false  friends  and 
courtesans,  wine  and  good  cheer  to  distract  me.     The  ties  that 


164  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

attach  a  man  to  family  life  had  been  permanently  broken  for 
me.  I  had  become  a  galley-slave  of  pleasure,  and  must  ac- 
complish my  destiny  of  suicide.  During  the  last  days  of  my 
prosperity,  I  spent  every  night  in  the  most  incredible  ex- 
cesses ;  but  every  morning  death  cast  me  back  upon  life  again. 
I  would  have  taken  a  conflagration  with  as  little  concern  as 
any  man  with  a  life  annuity.  However,  I  at  last  found  myself 
alone  with  a  twenty-franc  piece;  I  bethought  me  then  of 
Eastignac's  luck 

"Eh,  eh! "  Eaphael  exclaimed,  interrupting  himself, 

as  he  remembered  the  talisman  and  drew  it  from  his  pocket. 
Perhaps  he  was  wearied  by  the  long  day's  strain,  and  had  no 
more  strength  left  wherewith  to  pilot  his  head  through  the 
seas  of  wine  and  punch ;  or  perhaps,  exasperated  by  this  sym- 
bol of  his  own  existence,  the  torrent  of  his  own  eloquence 
gradually  overwhelmed  him.  Eaphael  became  excited  and 
elated  and  like  one  completely  deprived  of  reason. 

"The  devil  take  death!"  he  shouted,  brandishing  the  skin; 
"I  mean  to  live!  I  am  rich,  I  have  every  virtue;  nothing 
will  withstand  me.  Who  would  not  be  generous,  when  every- 
thing is  in  his  power?  Aha!  Aha!  I  wished  for  two 
hundred  thousand  livres  a  year,  and  I  shall  have  them.  Bow 
down  before  me,  all  of  you,  wallowing  on  the  carpets  like 
swine  in  the  mire !  You  all  belong  to  me — a  precious  prop- 
erty truly !  I  am  rich ;  I  could  buy  you  all,  even  the  deputy 
snoring  over  there.  Scum  of  society,  give  me  your  benedic- 
tion !     I  am  the  Pope." 

Eaphael's  vociferations  had  been  hitherto  drowned  by  a 
thorough-bass  of  snores,  but  now  they  became  suddenly  audi- 
ble. Most  of  the  sleepers  started  up  with  a  cry,  saw  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance  on  his  feet,  tottering  uncertainly, 
and  cursed  him  in  concert  for  a  drunken  brawler. 

"Silence !"  shouted  Eaphael.  "Back  to  your  kennels,  you 
dogs!  fimile,  I  have  riches,  I  will  give  you  Havana 
cigars !" 


((-I 


'1  am  listening,"  the  poet  replied.     "Death  or  Foedora! 
On  with  you !    That  silky  Foedora  deceived  you.    Women  are 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART         165 

all  daughters  of  Eve.  There  is  nothing  dramatic  about  that 
rigmarole  of  yours." 

"Ah,  but  you  were  sleeping,  slyboots." 

"No — 'Death  or  Foedora !'— I  have  it!" 

''AVake  up!"  Eaphael  shouted,  beating  fimile  with  the 
piece  of  shagreen  as  if  he  meant  to  draw  electric  fluid  out 
of  it. 

"Tonnerre!"  said  £mile,  springing  up  and  flinging  his 
arms  round  Eaphael;  "my  friend,  remember  the  sort  of  wo- 
men you  are  with." 

"I  am  a  millionaire !" 

"If  you  are  not  a  millionaire,  you  are  most  certainly 
drunk." 

"Drunk  with  power.  I  can  kill  you! — Silence!  I  am 
Nero  !     I  am  Nebuchadnezzar !" 

"But,  Eaphael,  we  are  in  queer  company,  and  you  ought 
to  keep  quiet  for  the  sake  of  your  own  dignity." 

"My  life  has  been  silent  too  long.  I  mean  to  have  my 
revenge  now  on  the  world  at  large.  I  will  not  amuse  myself 
by  squandering  paltry  five-franc  pieces ;  I  will  reproduce  and 
sum  up  my  epoch  by  absorbing  human  lives,  human  minds, 
and  human  souls.  There  are  the  treasures  of  pestilence — 
that  is  no  paltry  kind  of  wealth,  is  it?  I  will  wrestle  with 
fevers — yellow,  blue,  or  green — with  whole  armies,  with 
gibbets.  I  can  possess  Foedora — Yet  no,  I  do  not  want 
Foedora;  she  is  a  disease;  I  am  dying  of  Foedora.  I  want 
to  forget  Foedora." 

"If  you  keep  on  calling  out  like  this,  I  shall  take  you  into 
the  dining-room." 

"Do  you  see  this  skin?  It  is  Solomon's  will.  Solomon 
belongs  to  me — a  little  varlet  of  a  king!  Arabia  is  mine, 
Arabia  Petraa  to  boot;  and  the  universe,  and  you  too,  if  I 
choose.  If  I  choose — Ah!  be  careful.  I  can  buy  up  all 
your  journalist's  shop ;  you  shall  be  my  valet.  You  shall  be 
my  valet,  you  shall  manage  my  newspaper.  Valet !  valet, 
that  is  to  say,  free  from  aches  and  pains,  because  he  has  no 
brains." 


166  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

At  the  word,  jfimile  carried  Eaphael  off  into  the  dining- 
room. 

*'A11  right/'  he  remarked ;  "yes,  my  friend,  I  am  yonr  valet. 
But  you  are  about  to  be  editor-in-chief  of  a  newspaper;  so 
be  quiet,  and  behave  properly,  for  my  sake.  Have  you  no 
regard  for  me?" 

"Eegard  for  you !  You  shall  have  Havana  cigars,  with 
this  bit  of  shagreen:  always  with  this  skin,  this  supreme  bit 
of  shagreen.  It  is  a  cure  for  corns,  an  efficacious  remedy. 
Do  you  suffer?     I  will  remove  them." 

"Never  have  I  known  you  so  senseless " 

"Senseless,  my  friend?  Not  at  all.  This  skin  contracts 
whenever  I  form  a  wish — 'tis  a  paradox.  There  is  a  Brahmin 
underneath  it !  The  Brahmin  must  be  a  droll  fellow,  for  our 
desires,  look  you,  are  bound  to  expand " 

"Yes,  yes " 

"I  tell  you " 

"Yes,  yes,  very  true,  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion — our  de- 
sires expand " 

"The  skin,  I  tell  you." 

"Yes." 

"You  don't  believe  me.  I  know  you,  my  friend;  you  are 
as  full  of  lies  as  a  new-made  king." 

"How  can  you  expect  me  to  follow  your  drunken  maunder- 
ings  ?" 


"I  will  bet  you  I  can  prove  it.     Let  us  measure  it " 

"Goodness !  he  will  never  get  off  to  sleep,"  exclaimed 
fimile,  as  he  watched  Raphael  rummaging  busily  in  the 
dining-room. 

Thanks  to  the  peculiar  clearness  with  which  external  ob- 
jects are  sometimes  projected  on  an  inebriated  brain,  in  sharp' 
contrast  to  its  own  obscure  imaginings,  Valentin  found  an 
inkstand  and  a  table-napkin,  with  the  quickness  of  a  monkey, 
repeating  all  the  time : 

**Let  us  measure  it !     Let  us  measure  it  !*' 

"All  right,"  said  :6mile;  '^et  us  measure  it !" 

The  two  friends  spread  out  the  table-napkin  and  laid  tHe 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  167 

Magic  Skin  upon  it.  As  Smile's  hand  appeared  to  be 
steadier  than  Raphael's,  he  drew  a  line  with  pen  and  ink 
round  the  talisman,  while  his  friend  said : 

"I  wished  for  an  income  of  two  hundred  thousand  livres, 
didn't  I  ?  Well,  when  that  comes,  you  will  observe  a  mighty 
diminution  of  my  chagrin." 

"Yes — now  go  to  sleep.  Shall  I  make  you  comfortable  on 
that  sofa?     Now  then,  are  you  all  right?" 

"Yes,  my  nursling  of  the  press.  You  shall  amuse  me; 
you  shall  drive  the  flies  away  from  me.  The  friend  of 
adversity  should  be  the  friend  of  prosperity.  So  I  will  give 
you  some  Hava — na — cig " 

"Come,  now,  sleep.  Sleep  off  your  gold,  you  mill- 
ionaire !" 

"You !  sleep  off  your  paragraphs  !  Good-night !  Say 
good-night  to  Nebuchadnezzar  ! — Love  !  Wine  !  France ! — 
glory  and  tr — treas " 

Very  soon  the  snorings  of  the  two  friends  were  added  to 
the  music  with  which  the  rooms  resounded — an  ineffectual 
concert!  The  lights  went  out  one  by  one,  their  crystal 
sconces  cracking  in  the  final  flare.  Night  threw  dark 
shadows  over  this  prolonged  revelry,  in  which  Raphael's  nar- 
rative had  been  a  second  orgy  of  speech,  of  words  without 
ideas,  of  ideas  for  which  words  had  often  been  lacking. 

Towards  noon,  next  day,  the  fair  Aquilina  bestirred  her- 
self. She  yawned  wearily.  She  had  slept  with  her  head 
upon  a  painted  velvet  footstool,  and  her  cheeks  were  mottled 
over  by  contact  with  the  surface.  Her  movement  awoke 
Euphrasia,  who  suddenly  sprang  up  with  a  hoarse  cry ;  her 
pretty  face,  that  had  been  so  fresh  and  fair  in  the  evening, 
was  sallow  now  and  pallid ;  she  looked  like  a  candidate  for 
the  hospital.  The  rest  awoke  also  by  degrees,  with  portentous 
groanings,  to  feel  themselves  over  in  every  stiffened  limb, 
and  to  experience  the  infinite  varieties  of  weariness  that 
weighed  upon  them. 

A  servant  came  in  to  throw  back  the  shutters  and  open  the 
windows.     There  they  all  stood,  brought  back  to  conscious- 


168  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

ness  by  the  warm  rays  of  sunlight  that  shone  upon  the 
sleepers'  heads.  Their  movements  during  slumber  had  dis- 
ordered the  elaborately  arranged  hair  and  toilettes  of  the 
women.  They  presented  a  ghastly  spectacle  in  the  bright 
daylight.  Their  hair  fell  ungracefully  about  them;  their 
eyes,  lately  so  brilliant,  were  heavy  and  dim;  the  expression 
of  their  faces  was  entirely  changed.  The  sickly  hues,  which 
daylight  brings  out  so  strongly,  were  frightful.  An  olive 
tint  had  crept  over  the  lymphatic  faces,  so  fair  and  soft  when 
in  repose;  the  dainty  red  lips  were  grown  pale  and  dry,  and 
bore  tokens  of  the  degradation  of  excess.  Each  disowned  his 
mistress  of  the  night  before;  the  women  looked  wan  and  dis- 
colored, like  flowers  trampled  under  foot  by  a  passing 
procession. 

The  men  who  scorned  them  looked  even  more  horrible. 
Those  human  faces  would  have  made  you  shudder.  The  hollow 
eyes  with  the  dark  circles  round  them  seemed  to  see  nothing; 
they  were  dull  with  wine  and  stupefied  with  heavy  slumbers 
that  had  been  exhausting  rather  than  refreshing.  There  was 
an  indescribable  ferocious  and  stolid  bestiality  about  these 
haggard  faces,  where  bare  physical  appetite  appeared  shorn 
of  all  the  poetical  illusion  with  which  the  intellect  invests 
it.  Even  these  fearless  champions,  accustomed  to  measure 
themselves  with  excess,  were  struck  with  horror  at  this 
awakening  of  vice,  stripped  of  its  disguises,  at  being  con- 
fronted thus  with  sin,  the  skeleton  in  rags,  lifeless  and  hollow, 
bereft  of  the  sophistries  of  the  intellect  and  the  enchant- 
ments of  luxury.  Artists  and  courtesans  scrutinized  in 
silence  and  with  haggard  glances  the  surrounding  disorder, 
the  rooms  where  everything  had  been  laid  waste,  at  the  havoc 
■wrought  by  heated  passions. 

Demoniac  laughter  broke  out  when  Taillefer,  catching  the 
smothered  murmurs  of  his  guests,  tried  to  greet  them  with 
a  grin.  His  darkly  flushed,  perspiring  countenance  loomed 
upon  this  pandemonium,  like  the  image  of  a  crime  that 
knows  no  remorse  (see  UAuherge  rouge).  The  picture  was 
complete.     A  picture  of  a  foul  life  in  the  midst  of  luxury. 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  169 

a  hideous  mixture  of  the  pomp  and  squalor  of  humanity; 
an  awakening  after  the  frenzy  of  Debauch  has  crushed  and 
squeezed  all  the  fruits  of  life  in  her  strong  hands,  till  nothing 
but  unsightly  refuse  is  left  to  her,  and  lies  in  which  she  be- 
lieves no  longer.  You  might  have  thought  of  Death  gloating 
over  a  family  stricken  with  the  plague. 

The  sweet  scents  and  dazzling  lights,  the  mirth  and  the 
excitement  were  all  no  more ;  disgust  with  its  nauseous  sensa- 
tions and  searching  philosophy  was  there  instead.  The  sun 
shone  in  like  truth,  the  pure  outer  air  was  like  virtue;  in 
contrast  with  the  heated  atmosphere,  heavy  with  the  fumes 
of  the  previous  night  of  revelry. 

Accustomed  as  they  were  to  their  life,  many  of  the  girls 
thought  of  other  days  and  other  wakings ;  pure  and  innocent 
days  when  they  looked  out  and  saw  the  roses  and  honey- 
suckle about  the  casement,  and  the  fresh  countrj'side  without 
enraptured  by  the  glad  music  of  the  skylark;  while  earth 
lay  in  mists,  lighted  by  the  dawn,  and  in  all  the  glittering 
radiance  of  dew.  Others  imagined  the  family  breakfast,  the 
father  and  children  round  the  table,  the  innocent  laughter, 
the  unspeakable  charm  that  pervaded  it  all,  the  simple  hearts 
and  their  meal  as  simple. 

An  artist  mused  upon  his  quiet  studio,  on  his  statue  in  its 
severe  beauty,  and  the  graceful  model  who  was  waiting  for 
him.  A  young  man  recollected  a  lawsuit  on  which  the 
fortunes  of  a  family  hung,  and  an  important  transaction  that 
needed  his  presence.  The  scholar  regretted  his  study  and 
that  noble  work  that  called  for  him.  Nearly  everybody  was 
sorry  for  himself,  fimile  appeared  just  then  as  smiling, 
blooming,  and  fresh  as  the  smartest  assistant  in  a  fashionable 
shop. 

"You  are  all  as  ugly  as  bailiffs.  You  won't  be  fit  for  anj- 
thing  to-day,  so  this  day  is  lost,  and  I  vote  for  breakfast." 

At  this  Taillefer  went  out  to  give  some  orders.  The  wo- 
men went  languidly  up  to  the  mirrors  to  set  their  toilettes  in 
order.  Each  one  shook  herself.  The  wilder  sort  lectured 
the  steadier  ones.     The  courtesans  made  fun  of  thof^e  who 


170  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

looked  unable  to  continue  the  boisterous  festivity;  but  these 
wan  forms  revived  all  at  once,  stood  in  groups,  and  talked 
and  smiled.  Some  servants  quickly  and  adroitly  set  the 
furniture  and  everything  else  in  its  place,  and  a  magnificent 
breakfast  was  got  ready. 

The  guests  hurried  into  the  dining-room.  Everything 
there  bore  indelible  marks  of  yesterday's  excess,  it  is  true, 
but  there  were  at  any  rate  some  traces  of  ordinary,  rational 
existence,  such  traces  as  may  be  found  in  a  sick  man's  dying 
struggles.  And  so  the  revelry  was  laid  away  and  buried,  like 
carnival  of  a  Shrove  Tuesday,  by  masks  wearied  out  with 
dancing,  drunk  with  drunkenness,  and  quite  ready  to  be  per- 
suaded of  the  pleasures  of  lassitude,  lest  they  should  bc 
forced  to  admit  their  own  exhaustion. 

As  soon  as  these  bold  spirits  surrounded  the  capitalist's 
breakfast-table,  Cardot  appeared.  He  had  left  the  rest  to 
make  a  night  of  it  after  the  dinner,  and  finished  the  evening 
after  his  own  fashion  in  the  retirement  of  domestic  life. 
Just  now  a  sweet  smile  wandered  over  his  features.  He 
seemed  to  have  a  presentiment  that  there  would  be  some  in- 
heritance to  sample  and  divide,  involving  inventories  and  en- 
grossing; an  inheritance  rich  in  fees  and  deeds  to  draw  up, 
and  something  as  juicy  as  the  trembling  fillet  of  beef  in  wl  ich 
their  host  had  just  plunged  his  knife. 

"Oh,  ho !  we  are  to  have  breakfast  in  the  presence  oi  a 
notary,"  cried  Cursy. 

"You  have  come  here  just  at  the  right  time,"  said  the 
banker,  indicating  the  breakfast;  "you  can  jot  down  the 
numbers,  and  initial  off  all  the  dishes." 

"There  is  no  will  to  make  here,  but  contracts  of  marriage 
there  may  be,  perhaps,"  said  the  scholar,  who  had  made  a 
satisfactory  arrangement  for  the  first  time  in  twelve 
months. 

"Oh !     Oh  r 

"Ah !     Ah !" 

"One  moment,"  cried  Cardot,  fairly  deafened  by  a  chorus 
of  wretched  jokes.     "I   came  here  on  serious  business.     I 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  171 

am  bringing  six  millions  for  one  of  you."  (Dead  silence.) 
"Monsieur,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Eaphael,  who  at  the 
moment  was  unceremoniously  wiping  his  eyes  on  a  corner  of 
the  table-napkin,  "was  not  your  mother  a  Mile.  O'Flaharty  ?" 

"Yes,"    said    Eaphael    mechanically    enough;    "Barbara 
Marie." 

"Have  you  your  certificate  of  birth  about  you,"  Cardot  went 
on,  "and  Mme.  de  Valentin's  as  well?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Very  well  then,  monsieur;  you  are  the  sole  heir  of  Major 
O'Flaharty,  who  died  in  August  1828  at  Calcutta." 

"An  incalcuttable  fortune,"  said  the  critic. 

"The  Major  having  bequeathed  several  amounts  to  public 
institutions  in  his  will,  the  French  Government  sent  in  a 
claim  for  the  remainder  to  the  East  India  Company,"  the 
notary  continued.  "The  estate  is  clear  and  ready  to  be 
transferred  at  this  moment.  I  have  been  looking  in  vain  for 
the  heirs  and  assigns  of  Mile.  Barbara  Marie  O'Flaharty  for 
a  fortnight  past,  when  yesterday  at  dinner " 

Just  then  Eaphael  suddenly  staggered  to  his  feet ;  he  looked 
like  a  man  who  has  just  received  a  blow.  Acclamation  took 
the  form  of  silence,  for  stifled  envy  had  been  the  first  feeling 
in  every  breast,  and  all  eyes  devoured  him  like  flames.  Then 
a  murmur  rose,  and  grew  like  the  voice  of  a  discontented 
audience,  or  the  first  mutterings  of  a  riot,  as  everybody  made 
some  comment  on  this  news  of  great  wealth  brought  by  the 
notary. 

This  abrupt  subservience  of  fate  brought  Eaphael 
thoroughly  to  his  senses.  He  immediately  spread  out  the 
table-napkin  with  which  he  had  lately  taken  the  measure  of 
the  piece  of  shagreen.  He  heeded  nothing  as  he  laid  the 
talisman  upon  it,  and  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  sight  of 
a  slight  difference  between  the  present  size  of  the  skin  and 
the  outline  traced  upon  the  linen. 

*'Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  Taillefer  cried. 
•''He  comes  by  his  fortune  very  cheaply." 

"Soutiens-le  Chdtillonr  said  Bixiou  to  :fimile.  "The  ioy 
will  kill  him." 


172  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

A  ghastly  white  hue  overspread  every  line  of  the  wan 
features  of  the  heir-at-law.  His  face  was  drawn,  every  out- 
line grew  haggard ;  the  hollows  in  his  livid  countenance  grew 
deeper,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  and  staring.  He  was  facing 
Death. 

The  opulent  banker,  surrounded  hy  faded  women,  and 
faces  with  satiety  written  on  them,  the  enjoyment  that  had 
reached  the  pitch  of  agony,  was  a  living  illustration,  of  his 
own  life.  j 

Eaphael  looked  thrice  at  the  talisman,  which  lay  passively 
within  the  merciless  outlines  on  the  table-napkin;  he  tried 
not  to  believe  it,  but  his  incredulity  vanished  utterly  before 
the  light  of  an  inner  presentiment.  The  whole  world  was 
his;  he  could  have  all  things,  but  the  will  to  possess  them 
was  utterly  extinct.  Like  a  traveler  in  the  midst  of  the 
desert,  with  but  a  little  water  left  to  quench  his  thirst,  he 
must  measure  his  life  by  the  draughts  he  took  of  it.  He  saw 
what  every  desire  of  his  must  cost  him  in  the  days  of  his 
life.  He  believed  in  the  powers  of  the  Magic  Skin  at 
last ;  he  listened  to  every  breath  he  drew ;  he  felt  ill  already ; 
he  asked  himself: 

"Am  I  not  consumptive?  Did  not  my  mother  die  of  a 
lung  complaint?" 

"Aha,  Eaphael !  what  fun  you  will  have !  What  will  you 
give  me?"  asked  Aquilina. 

"Here's  to  the  death  of  his  uncle.  Major  O'Flaharty! 
There  is  a  man  for  you." 

"He  will  be  a  peer  of  France." 

"Pooh!  what  is  a  peer  of  France  since  July?"  said  the 
amateur  critic. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  a  box  at  the  Bouffons  ?" 

"You  are  going  to  treat  us  all,  I  hope?"  put  in  Bixiou.     . 

"A  man  of  his  sort  will  be  sure  to  do  things  in  style,"  said 
Emile. 

The  hurrah  set  up  by  the  jovial  assembly  rang  in  Valentin's 
fiars,  but  he  could  not  grasp  the  sense  of  a  single  word. 
Vague  thoughts  crossed  him  of  the  Breton  peasant's  life  of 


A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART  173 

mechanical  labor,  without  a  wish  of  any  kind;  he  pictured 
him  burdened  with  a  family,  tilling  the  soil,  living  on  buck- 
wheat meal,  drinking  cider  out  of  a  pitcher,  believing  in  the 
Virgin  and  the  King,  taking  the  sacrameait  at  Easter,  danc- 
ing of  a  Sunday  on  the  green  sward,  and  understanding  never 
a  word  of  the  rector's  sermon.  The  actual  scene  that  lay 
before  him,  the  gilded  furniture,  the  courtesans,  the  feast 
itself,  and  the  surrounding  splendors,  seemed  to  catch  him  by 
the  throat,  and  made  him  cough. 

"Do  you  wish  for  some  asparagus  ?"  the  banker  cried. 

"I  wish  for  nothing!"  thundered  Raphael. 

"Bravo  !"  Taillef  er  exclaimed ;  "you  understand  your  posi- 
tion; a  fortune  confers  the  privilege  of  being  impertinent. 
You  are  one  of  us.  Gentlemen,  let  us  drink  to  the  might  of 
gold !  M.  Valentin  here,  six  times  a  millionaire,  has  become 
a  power.  He  is  a  king,  like  all  the  rich ;  everything  is  at  his 
disposal,  everything  lies  under  his  feet.  From  this  time  forth 
the  axiom  that  'all  Frenchmen  are  alike  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law,'  is  for  him  a  fib  at  the  head  of  the  Constitutional 
Charter.  He  is  not  going  to  obey  the  law — the  law  is  going 
to  obey  him.  There  are  neither  scaffolds  nor  executioners 
for  millionaires." 

"Yes,  there  are,"  said  Eaphael;  "they  are  their  own  ex- 
ecutioners." 

"Here  is  another  victim  of  prejudices  !"  cried  the  banker. 

"Let  us  drink !"  Eaphael  said,  putting  the  talisman  into  his 
pocket. 

"What  are  you  doing  ?"  said  fimile,  checking  his  movement. 
"Gentlemen,"  he  added,  addressing  the  company,  who  were 
rather  taken  aback  by  Eaphael's  behavior,  "you  must  know 
that  our  friend  Valentin  here — what  am  I  saying? — I  mean 
my  Lord  Marquis  de  Valentin — is  in  the  possession  of  a  secret 
for  obtaining  wealth.  His  wishes  are  fulfilled  as  soon  as  he 
knows  them.  He  will  make  us  all  rich  together,  or  he  is  a 
flunkey,  and  devoid  of  all  decent  feeling." 

"Oh,  Eaphael  dear,  I  should  like  a  set  of  pearl  orna- 
ments !"  Euphrasia  exclaimed. 


174  THIS  MAGIU  SKIN 

"If  he  has  any  gratitude  in  him,  he  will  give  me  a  couple 
of  carriages  with  fast  steppers,"  said  Aquilina. 

*^ish  for  a  hundred  thousand  a  year  for  me !" 

"Indian  shawls !" 

"Pay  my  debts  V 

"Send  an  apoplexy  to  my  uncle,  the  old  stick!" 

"Ten  thousand  a  year  in  the  funds,  and  I'll  cry  quits  with 
you,  Eaphael !" 

"Deeds  of  gift  and  no  mistake,"  was  the  notary's  com- 
ment. 

"He  ought,  at  least,  to  rid  me  of  the  gout !" 

"Lower  the  funds !"  shouted  the  banker. 

These  phrases  flew  about  like  the  last  discharge  of  rockets 
at  the  end  of  a  display  of  fireworks;  and  were  uttered,  per- 
haps, more  in  earnest  than  in  jest. 

"My  good  friend,"  fimile  said  solemnly,  "I  shall  be  quite 
satisfied  with  an  income  of  two  hundred  thousand  livres. 
Please  to  set  about  it  at  once." 

"Do  you  not  know  the  cost,  !fimile  ?"  asked  Eaphael. 

"A  nice  excuse !"  the  poet  cried ;  "ought  we  not  to  sacrifice 
ourselves  for  our  friends?" 

"I  have  almost  a  mind  to  wish  that  you  all  were  dead," 
Valentin  made  answer,  with  a  dark,  inscrutable  look  at  his 
boon  companions. 

"Dying  people  are  frightfully  cruel,"  said  fimile,  laughing. 
"You  are  rich  now,"  he  went  on  gravely;  "very  well,  I  will 
give  you  two  months  at  most  before  you  grow  vilely  selfish. 
You  are  so  dense  already  that  you  cannot  understand  a  joke. 
You  have  only  to  go  a  little  further  to  believe  in  your  Magic 
Skin." 

Eaphael  kept  silent,  fearing  the  banter  of  the  company; 
but  he  drank  immoderately,  trying  to  drown  in  intoxication 
the  recollection  of  his  fatal  power. 


THE  AGONY  175 

III 

THE  AGONY 

In  the  early  days  of  December  an  old  man  of  some  seventy 
years  of  age  pursued  his  way  along  the  Hue  de  Varenne, 
in  spite  of  the  falling  rain.  He  peered  up  at  the  door  of 
each  house,  trying  to  discover  the  address  of  the  Marquis 
Kaphael  de  Valentin,  in  a  simple,  childlike  fashion,  and  with 
the  abstracted  look  peculiar  to  philosophers.  His  face 
plainly  showed  traces  of  a  struggle  between  a  heavy  mortifica- 
tion and  an  authoritative  nature;  his  long,  gray  hair  hung 
in  disorder  about  a  face  like  a  piece  of  parchment  shriveling 
in  the  fire.  If  a  painter  had  come  upon  this  curious  charac- 
ter, he  would,  no  doubt,  have  transferred  him  to  his  sketch- 
book on  his  return,  a  thin,  bony  figure,  clad  in  black,  and  have 
inscribed  beneath  it:  "Classical  poet  in  search  of  a  rhyme." 
When  he  had  identified  the  number  that  had  been  given  to 
him,  this  reincarnation  of  Eollin  knocked  meekly  at  the  door 
of  a  splendid  mansion. 

"Is  Monsieur  Eaphael  in?"  the  worthy  man  inquired  of 
the  Swiss  in  livery. 

"My  Lord  the  Marquis  sees  nobody,"  said  the  servant, 
swallowing  a  huge  morsel  that  he  had  just  dipped  in  a  large 
bowl  of  coffee. 

"There  is  his  carriage,"  said  the  elderly  stranger,  pointing 
to  a  fine  equipage  that  stood  under  the  wooden  canopy  that 
sheltered  the  steps  before  the  house,  in  place  of  a  striped 
linen  awning.      "He  is  going  out ;  I  will  wait  for  him." 

"Then  you  might  wait  here  till  to-morrow  morning,  old 
boy,"  said  the  Swiss.  "A  carriage  is  always  waiting  for  mon- 
sieur. Please  to  go  away.  If  I  were  to  let  any  stranger 
come  into  the  house  without  orders,  I  should  lose  an  income 
of  six  hundred  francs." 

A  tall  old  man,  in  a  costume  not  unlike  that  of  a 
subordinate  in  the  Civil  Service,  came  out  of  the  vestibule  and 


176  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

hurried  part  of  the  way  down  the  steps,  while  lie  maae  a 
survey  of  the  astonished  elderly  applicant  for  admission. 

"What  is  more,  here  is  M.  Jonathan,"  the  Swiss  remarked ; 
*'speak  to  him/' 

Fellow-feeling  of  some  kind,  or  curiosity,  brought  the  two 
old  men  together  in  a  central  space  in  the  great  entrance- 
court.  A  few  blades  of  grass  were  growing  in  the  crevices  of 
the  pavement ;  a  terrible  silence  reigned  in  that  great  house. 
The  sight  of  Jonathan's  face  would  have  made  you  long  to  un- 
derstand the  mystery  that  brooded  over  it,  and  that  was  an- 
nounced by  the  smallest  trifles  about  the  melancholy  place. 

When  Eaphael  inherited  his  uncle's  vast  estate,  his  first 
care  had  been  to  seek  out  the  old  and  devoted  servitor  of 
whose  affection  he  knew  that  he  was  secure.  Jonathan  had 
wept  tears  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  his  young  master,  of  whom 
he  thought  he  had  taken  a  final  farewell ;  and  when  the  mar- 
quis exalted  him  to  the  high  office  of  steward,  his  happiness 
could  not  be  surpassed.  So  old  Jonathan  became  an  in- 
termediary power  between  Eaphael  and  the  world  at  large. 
He  was  the  absolute  disposer  of  his  master's  fortune,  the  blind 
instrument  of  an  unknown  will,  and  a  sixth  sense,  as  it  were, 
by  which  the  emotions  of  life  were  communicated  to 
Raphael. 

"I  should  like  to  speak  with  M.  Raphael,  sir,"  said  the 
elderly  person  to  Jonathan,  as  he  climbed  up  the  steps  some 
way,  into  a  shelter  from  the  rain. 

"To  speak  with  my  Lord  the  Marquis?"  the  steward  cried. 
"He  scarcely  speaks  even  to  me,  his  foster-father!" 

"But  I  am  likewise  his  foster-father,"  said  the  old  man. 
"If  your  wife  was  his  foster-mother,  I  fed  him  myself  with 
the  milk  of  the  Muses.  He  is  my  nursling,  my  child,  carus 
alumnus!  I  formed  his  mind,  cultivated  his  understanding, 
developed  his  genius,  and,  I  venture  to  say  it,  to  my  own 
honor  and  glory.  Is  he  not  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  of  our  epoch?  He  was  one  of  m}'  pupils  in  two  lower 
forms,  and  in  rhetoric.     I  am  his  professor." 

"Ah,  sir,  then  you  are  M.  Porriquet  ?" 


THE  -AGONY  177 

''Exactly,  sir,  but " 

"Hush !  hush  I"  Jonathan  called  to  two  underlings, 
whose  voices  broke  the  monastic  silence  that  shrouded  the 
house. 
"But  is  the  Marquis  ill,  sir  ?"  the  professor  continued, 
"My  dear  sir,"  Jonathan  replied,  "Heaven  only  knows  what 
is  the  matter  with  my  master.  You  see,  there  are  not  a 
couple  of  houses  like  ours  anywhere  in  Paris.  Do  3''ou  under- 
stand ?  Not  two  houses.  Faith,  that  there  are  not.  My  Lord 
the  Marquis  had  this  hotel  purchased  for  him;  it  formerly 
belonged  to  a  duke  and  a  peer  of  France ;  then  he  spent  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  over  furnishing  it.  That's  a  good 
deal,  you  know,  three  hundred  thousand  francs !  But  every 
room  in  the  house  is  a  perfect  wonder.  'Good,'  said  I  to 
myself  when  I  saw  this  magnificence ;  'it  is  just  like  it  used  to 
be  in  the  time  of  my  lord,  his  late  grandfather;  and  the 
young  marquis  is  going  to  entertain  all  Paris  and  the  Court !' 
Nothing  of  the  kind !  My  lord  refused  to  see  any  one  what- 
ever. 'Tis  a  funny  life  that  he  leads,  M.  Porriquet,  you  un- 
derstand. An  inconciliahle  life.  He  rises  every  day  at  the 
6ame  time.  I  am  the  only  person,  you  see,  that  may  enter 
his  room.  I  open  the  shutters  at  seven  o'clock,  summer 
or  winter.  It  is  all  arranged  very  oddly.  As  I  come  in  I 
say  to  him : 

"  'You  must  get  up  and  dress,  my  Lord  Marquis.' 
"Then  he  rises  and  dresses  himself.  I  have  to  give  him 
his  dressing-gown,  and  it  is  always  after  the  same  pattern, 
and  of  the  same  material.  I  am  obliged  to  replace  it  when  it 
can  be  used  no  longer,  simply  to  save  him  the  trouble  of  ask- 
ing for  a  new  one.  A  queer  fancy !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
has  a  thousand  francs  to  spend  every  day,  and  he  does  as  he 
pleases,  the  dear  child.  And  besides,  I  am  so  fond  of  him 
that  if  he  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear  on  one  side,  I  should  hold 
out  the  other  to  him !  The  most  difficult  things  he  will  tell 
me  to  do,  and  yet  I  do  them,  you  know !  He  gives  me  such 
a  lot  of  trifles  to  attend  to,  that  I  am  well  set  to  work !  He 
reads  the  newspapers,  doesn't  he  ?    Well,  my  instructions  are 

12 


178  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

to  put  them  always  in  the  same  place,  on  the  same  table.  I 
alM^ays  go  at  the  same  hour  and  shave  him  myself ;  and  don't 
I  tremble !  The  cook  would  forfeit  the  annuity  of  a  thou- 
sand crowns  that  he  is  to  come  into  after  my  lord's  death,  if 
breakfast  is  not  served  inconciliably  at  ten  o'clock  precisely. 
The  menus  are  drawn  up  for  the  whole  year  round,  day  after 
day.  My  Lord  the  Marquis  has  not  a  thing  to  wish  for.  He 
has  strawberries  whenever  there  are  any,  and  he  has  the  earli- 
est mackerel  to  be  had  in  Paris.  The  programme  is  printed 
every  morning.  He  knows  his  dinner  by  rote.  In  the  next 
place,  he  dresses  himself  at  the  same  hour,  in  the  same 
clothes,  the  same  linen,  that  I  always  put  on  the  same  chair, 
you  understand?  I  have  to  see  that  he  always  has  the  same 
cloth;  and  if  it  should  happen  that  his  coat  came  to  grief 
(a  mere  supposition),  I  should  have  to  replace  it  by  another 
without  saying  a  word  about  it  to  him.  If  it  is  fine,  I  go  in 
and  say  to  my  master : 

*You  ought  to  go  out,  sir.' 

'He  says  Yes,  or  No.  If  he  has  a  notion  that  he  will  go 
out,  he  doesn't  wait  for  his  horses;  they  are  always  ready 
harnessed;  the  coachman  stops  there  inconciliably,  whip  in 
hand,  just  as  you  see  him  out  there.  In  the  evening,  after 
dinner,  my  master  goes  one  day  to  the  Opera,  the  other  to 

the  Ital no,  he  hasn't  yet  gone  to  the  Italiens,  though, 

for  I  could  not  find  a  box  for  him  until  yesterday.  Then  he 
comes  in  at  eleven  o'clock  precisely,  to  go  to  bed.  At  any 
time  in  the  day  when  he  has  nothing  to  do,  he  reads — he  is 
always  reading,  you  see — it  is  a  notion  he  has.  My  instruc- 
tions are  to  read  the  Journal  de  la  Librairie  before  he  sees 
it,  and  to  buy  new  books,  so  that  he  finds  them  on  his  chim- 
ney-pieca  on  the  very  day  that  they  are  published.  I  have 
orders  to  go  into  his  room  every  hour  or  so,  to  look  after  the 
fire  and  everything  else,  and  to  see  that  he  wants  nothing. 
He  gave  me  a  little  book,  sir,  to  learn  off  by  heart,  with  all  my 
duties  written  in  it — a  regular  catechism !  In  summer  I 
have  to  keep  a  cool  and  even  temperature  with  blocks  of  ice, 
and  at  all  seasons  to  put  fresh  flowers  aU  about.     He  is  rich ! 


THE  AGONY  179 

He  has  a  thousand  francs  to  spend  every  day ;  he  can  indulge 
his  fancies !  And  he  hadn't  even  necessaries  for  so  long, 
poor  child !  He  doesn't  annoy  anybody ;  he  is  as  good  as 
gold ;  he  never  opens  his  mouth,  for  instance ;  the  house  and 
garden  are  absolutely  silent.  In  short,  my  master  has  not  a 
single  wish  left ;  everything  comes  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
if  he  raises  his  hand,  and  instanter.  Quite  right,  too.  If 
servants  are  not  looked  after,  everything  falls  into  confusion. 
You  would  never  believe  the  lengths  he  goes  about  things. 
His  rooms  are  all — what  do  you  call  it? — er — er — en  suite. 
Very  well ;  just  suppose,  now,  that  he  opens  his  room  door  or 
the  door  of  his  study ;  presto !  all  the  other  doors  fly  open  of 
themselves  by  a  patent  contrivance ;  and  then  he  can  go  from 
one  end  of  the  house  to  the  other  and  not  find  a  single  door 
shut;  which  is  all  very  nice  and  pleasant  and  convenient  for 
us  great  folk !  But,  on  my  word,  it  cost  us  a  lot  of  money ! 
And,  after  all,  ]\I.  Porriquet,  he  said  to  me  at  last : 

"  'Jonathan,  you  will  look  after  me  as  if  I  were  a  baby  in 
long  clothes.'  Yes,  sir,  'long  clothes !'  those  were  his  very 
words.  'You  will  think  of  all  my  requirements  for  me.'  I 
am  the  master,  so  to  speak,  and  he  is  the  servant,  you  un- 
derstand? The  reason  of  it?  Ah,  my  word,  that  is  just 
what  nobody  on  earth  knows  but  he  himself  and  God 
Almighty.    It  is  quite  inconciliable !" 

"He  is  writing  a  poem !"  exclaimed  the  old  professor. 

''You  think  he  is  writing  a  poem,  sir  ?  It's  a  very  absorb- 
ing affair,  then!  But,  you  know,  I  don't  think  he  is.  He 
often  tells  me  that  he  wants  to  live  like  a  vergetation;  he 
wants  to  vergetate.  Only  yesterday  he  was  looking  at  a  tulip 
while  he  was  dressing,  and  he  said  to  me : 

"  'There  is  my  own  life — I  am  vergetating,  my  poor 
Jonathan.'  Now,  some  of  them  insist  that  that  is  mono- 
mania.    It  is  inconciliable !" 

"All  this  makes  is  very  clear  to  me,  Jonathan,"  the  pro- 
fessor answered,  with  a  magisterial  solemnity  that  greatly 
impressed  the  old  servant,  "that  your  master  is  absorbed  in  a 
great  work.  He  is  deep  in  vast  meditations,  and  has  no  wish  to 


180  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

be  distracted  by  the  petty  preoccupations  of  ordinary  life. 
A  man  of  genius  forgets  everything  among  his  intellectual 
labors.     One  day  the  famous  Newton " 

"Newton? — oh,  ah!  I  don't  know  the  name/'  said 
Jonathan. 

"Newton,  a  great  geometrician,"  Porriquet  went  on,  "once 
sat  for  twenty-four  hours  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table; 
when  he  emerged  from  his  musings,  he  was  a  day  out  in  his 
reckoning,  just  as  if  he  had  been  sleeping.  I  will  go  to  see 
him,  dear  lad;  I  may  perhaps  be  of  some  use  to  him." 

"Not  for  a  moment !"  Jonathan  cried.  "Not  though  you 
were  King  of  France — I  mean  the  real  old  one.  You  could 
not  go  in  unless  you  forced  the  doors  open  and  walked  over 
my  body.  But  I  will  go  and  tell  him  you  are  here, 
M.  Porriquet,  and  I  will  put  it  to  him  like  this,  'Ought  he  to 
come  up?'  And  he  will  say  Yes  or  No.  I  never  say,  'Do 
you  wish?'  or  'Will  you?'  or  'Do  you  want?'  Those  words 
are  scratched  out  of  the  dictionary.  He  let  out  at  me  once 
with  a  'Do  you  want  to  kill  me  ?'  he  was  so  very  angry." 

Jonathan  left  the  old  schoolmaster  in  the  vestibule,  sign- 
ing to  him  to  come  no  further,  and  soon  returned  with  a 
favorable  answer.  He  led  the  old  gentleman  through  one 
magnificent  room  after  another,  where  every  door  stood  open. 
At  last  Porriquet  beheld  his  pupil  at  some  distance  seated  be- 
side the  fire. 

Eaphael  was  reading  the  paper.  He  sat  in  an  armchair, 
wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  with  some  large  pattern  on  it./ 
The  intense  melancholy  that  preyed  upon  him  could  be  dis- 
cerned in  his  languid  posture  and  feeble  frame;  it  was  de- 
picted on  his  brow  and  white  face ;  he  looked  like  some  plant 
bleached  by  darkness.  There  was  a  kind  of  effeminate  grace 
about  him;  the  fancies  peculiar  to  wealthy  invalids  were  also 
noticeable.  His  hands  were  soft  and  white,  like  a  pretty 
woman's;  he  wore  his  fair  hair,  now  grown  scanty,  curled 
about  his  temples  with  a  refinement  of  vanity. 

The  Greek  cap  that  he  wore  was  pulled  to  one  side  by  the 
weight  of  its  tassel ;  too  heavy  for  the  light  material  of  which 


THE  AGONY  181 

it  was  inade.  He  had  let  the  paper-knife  fall  at  his  feet,  a 
malachite  blade  with  gold  mounting,  which  he  had  used  to 
cut  the  leaves  of  a  book.  The  amber  mouthpiece  of  a 
magnificent  Indian  hookah  lay  on  his  knee;  the  enameled 
coils  lay  like  a  serpent  in  the  room,  but  he  had  forgotten  to 
draw  out  its  fresh  perfume.  And  yet  there  was  a  complete 
contradiction  between  the  general  feebleness  of  his  young 
frame  and  the  blue  eyes,  where  all  his  vitality  seemed  to 
dwell ;  an  extraordinary  intelligence  seemed  to  look  out  from 
them  and  to  grasp  ever}i;hing  at  once. 

That  expression  was  painful  to  see.  Some  would  have 
read  despair  in  it,  and  others  some  inner  conflict  terrible  as 
remorse.  It  was  the  inscrutable  glance  of  helplessness  that 
must  perforce  consign  its  desires  to  the  depths  of  its  own 
heart ;  or  of  a  miser  enjoying  in  imagination  all  the  pleasures 
that  his  money  could  procure  for  him,  while  he  declines  to 
lessen  his  hoard;  the  look  of  a  bound  Prometheus,  of  the 
fallen  Napoleon  of  1815,  when  he  learned  at  the  Elysee  the 
strategical  blunder  that  his  enemies  had  made,  and  asked  for 
twenty-four  hours  of  command  in  vain;  or  rather  it  was  the 
same  look  that  Raphael  had  turned  upon  the  Seine,  or  upon 
his  last  piece  of  gold  at  the  gaming-table  only  a  few  months 
ago. 

He  was  submitting  his  intelligence  and  his  will  to  the 
homely  common-sense  of  an  old  peasant  whom  fifty  years 
of  domestic  service  had  scarcely  civilized.  He  had  given  up 
all  the  rights  of  life  in  order  to  live;  he  had  despoiled  his 
soul  of  all  the  romance  that  lies  in  a  wish;  and  almost  re- 
joiced at  thus  becoming  a  sort  of  automaton.  The  better  to 
struggle  with  the  cruel  power  that  he  had  challenged,  he 
had  followed  Origen's  example,  and  had  maimed  and 
chastened  his  imagination. 

The  day  after  he  had  seen  the  diminution  of  the  Magic 
Skin,  at  his  sudden  accession  of  wealth,  he  happened  to  be 
at  his  notary's  house.  A  well-known  physician  had  told  them 
quite  seriously,  at  dessert,  how  a  Swiss  attacked  by  consump- 
tion had  cured  himself.     The  man  had  never  spoken  a  word 


182  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

for  ten  years,  and  had  compelled  himself  to  draw  six  breaths 
only,  every  minute,  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  a  cow-house, 
adhering  all  the  time  to  a  regimen  of  exceedingly  light  diet. 
"I  will  be  like  that  man,"  thought  Eaphael  to  himself.  He 
wanted  life  at  any  price,  and  so  he  led  the  life  of  a  machine 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  luxury  around  him. 

The  old  professor  confronted  this  youthful  corpse  and 
shuddered;  there  seemed  something  unnatural  about  the 
meagre,  enfeebled  frame.  In  the  Marquis,  with  his  eager 
eyes  and  careworn  forehead,  he  could  hardly  recognize  the 
fresh-cheeked  and  rosy  pupil  with  the  active  limbs,  whom 
he  remembered.  If  the  worthy  classicist,  sage  critic,  and 
general  preserver  of  the  traditions  of  correct  taste  had  read 
Byron,  he  would  have  thought  that  he  had  come  on  a  Man- 
fred when  he  looked  to  find  Childe  Harold. 

"Good  day,  pere  Porriquet,"  said  Raphael,  pressing  the  old 
schoolmaster's  frozen  fingers  in  his  own  hot  damp  ones; 
*'how  are  you?" 

"I  am  very  well,"  replied  the  other,  alarmed  by  the  touch 
of  that  feverish  hand.     "But  how  about  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  am  hoping  to  keep  myself  in  health." 

"You  are  engaged  in  some  great  work,  no  doubt  ?" 

"No,"  Eaphael  answered.  "Exegi  monumentum,  pere 
Porriquet;  I  have  contributed  an  important  page  to  science, 
and  have  now  bidden  her  farewell  for  ever.  I  scarcely 
know  where  my  manuscript  is." 

"The  style  is  no  doubt  correct?"  queried  the  schoolmaster. 
*'You,   I   hope,   would   never   have   adopted   the   barbarous 
language  of  the  new  school,  which  fancies  it  has  worked 
such  wonders  by  discovering  Eonsard !" 
>     "My  work  treats  of  physiology  pure  and  simple." 

"Oh,  then,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said,"  the  schoolmaster 
answered.  "Grammar  must  yield  to  the  exigencies  of  dis- 
covery. Nevertheless,  young  man,  a  lucid  and  harmonious 
style — the  diction  of  Massillon,  of  M.  de  Buffon,  of  the 
great  Eacine — a  classical  style,  in  short,  can  never  spoil  any- 
thing       But,  my  friend/'  the  schoolmaster  interrupted 


THE  AGONY  183 

himself,  "I  was  forgetting  the  object  of  my  visit,  which 
concerns  my  own  interests." 

Too  late  Kaphael  recalled  to  mind  the  verbose  eloquence 
and  elegant  circumlocutions  which  in  a  long  professorial 
career  had  grown  habitual  to  his  old  tutor,  and  almost  re-  i 
gretted  that  he  had  admitted  him ;  but  just  as  he  was  about  to  ' 
wish  to  see  him  safely  outside,  he  promptly  suppressed  his 
secret  desire  with  a  stealthy  glance  at  the  Magic  Skin. 
It  hung  there  before  him,  fastened  down  upon  some  white 
material,  surrounded  by  a  red  line  accurately  traced  about 
its  prophetic  outlines.  Since  that  fatal  carouse,  Raphael 
had  stifled  every  least  whim,  and  had  lived  so  as  not  to  cause 
the  slightest  movement  in  the  terrible  talisman.  The  Magic 
Skin  was  like  a  tiger  with  which  he  must  live  without 
exciting  its  ferocity.  He  bore  patiently,  therefore,  with  the 
old  schoolmaster's  prolixity. 

Porriquet  spent  an  hour  in  telling  him  about  the  persecu- 
tions directed  against  him  ever  since  the  Revolution  of  July< 
The  worthy  man,  having  a  liking  for  strong  governments,  had 
expressed  the  patriotic  wish  that  grocers  should  be  left  to 
their  counters,  statesmen  to  the  management  of  public 
business,  advocates  to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  peers  of 
France  to  the  Luxembourg;  but  one  of  the  popularity-seek- 
ing ministers  of  the  Citizen  King  had  ousted  him  from  his 
chair,  on  an  accusation  of  Carlism,  and  the  old  man  now 
found  himself  without  pension  or  post,  and  with  no  bread 
to  eat.  As  he  played  the  part  of  guardian  angel  to  a  pcor 
nephew,  for  whose  schooling  at  Saint  Sulpice  he  was  paying, 
he  came  less  on  his  own  account  than  for  his  adopted  child's 
sake,  to  entreat  his  former  pupil's  interest  with  the  new 
minister.  He  did  not  ask  to  be  reinstated,  but  only  for  a 
position  at  the  head  of  some  provincial  school. 

Raphael  had  fallen  a  victim  to  unconquerable  drowsiness 
by  the  time  that  the  worthy  man's  monotonous  voice  ceased 
to  sound  in  his  ears.  Civility  had  compelled  him  to  look 
at  the  pale  and  unmoving  eyes  of  the  deliberate  and  tedious 
old  narrator,  till  he  himself  had  reached  stupefaction, 
magnetized  in  an  inexplicable  way  by  the  power  of  inertia^ 


184  THE  MAGIG  SKIN 

"Well,  my  dear  pere  Porriquet,"  he  said,  not  very  certam 
what  the  question  was  to  which  he  was  replying,  "hut  I  can 
do  nothing  for  you,  nothing  at  all.  I  wish  very  heartily  that 
you  may  succeed " 

All  at  once,  without  seeing  the  change  wrought  on  the 
old  man's  sallow  and  wrinkled  brow  by  these  conventional 
phrases,  full  of  indifference  and  selfishness,  Eaphael  sprang 
to  his  feet  like  a  startled  roebuck.  He  saw  a  thin  white  line 
between  the  black  piece  of  hide  and  the  red  tracing  about* 
it,  and  gave  a  cry  so  fearful  that  the  poor  professor  was 
frightened  by  it. 

"Old  fool !  Go  V  he  cried.  "You  will  be  appointed  as 
headmaster!  Couldn't  you  have  asked  me  for  an  annuity 
of  a  thousand  crowns  rather  than  a  murderous  wish  ?  Your 
visit  would  have  cost  me  nothing.  There  are  a  hundred 
thousand  situations  to  be  had  in  France,  but  I  have  only 
one  life.  A  man's  life  is  worth  more  than  all  the  situations 
in  the  world. — Jonathan !" 

Jonathan  appeared. 

"This  is  your  doing,  double-distilled  idiot !  What  made 
you  suggest  that  I  should  see  M.  Porriquet  ?"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  old  man,  who  was  petrified  with  fright.  "Did  I  put 
myself  in  your  hands  for  you  to  tear  me  in  pieces?  You 
have  Just  shortened  my  life  by  ten  years !  Another  blunder 
of  this  kind,  and  you  will  lay  me  where  I  have  laid  my  father. 
Would  I  not  far  rather  have  possessed  the  beautiful  Foedora? 
And  I  have  obliged  that  old  hulk  instead — that  rag  of 
humanity !  I  had  money  enough  for  him.  And,  moreover, 
if  all  the  Porriquets  in  the  world  were  dying  of  hunger,  what 
is  that  to  me  ?" 

Eaphael's  face  was  white  with  anger ;  a  slight  froth  marked 
his  trembling  lips;  there  was  a  savage  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
The  two  elders  shook  with  terror  in  his  presence  like  two 
children  at  the  sight  of  a  snake.  The  young  man  fell  back 
in  his  armchair,  a  kind  of  reaction  took  place  in  him,  the  tears 
flowed  fast  from  his  angry  eyes. 

"Oh,  my  life!"  he  cried,  "that  fair  life  of  mine.     Never' 


THE  AGONY  185 

to  know  a  kindly  thought  again,  to  love  no  more ;  nothing  is 
left  to  me !" 

He  turned  to  the  professor  and  went  on  in  a  gentle  voice — 
"The  harm  is  done,  my  old  friend.  Your  services  have  been 
well  repaid;  and  my  misfortune  has  at  any  rate  contributed 
to  the  welfare  of  a  good  and  worthy  man." 

His  tones  betrayed  so  much  feeling  that  the  almost  UBin- 
telligible  words  drew  tears  from  the  two  old  men,  such  tears 
as  are  shed  over  some  pathetic  song  in  a  foreign  tongue. 

"He  is  epileptic,"  muttered  Porriquet. 

*1  understand  your  kind  intentions,  my  friend,"  Eaphael 
answered  gently.  "You  would  make  excuses  for  me.  Ill- 
health  cannot  be  helped,  but  ingratitude  is  a  grievous  fault. 
Leave  me  now,"  he  added.  "To-morrow  or  the  next  day,  or 
possibly  to-night,  you  will  receive  your  appointment;  Ee- 
sistance  has  triumphed  over  Motion.     Farewell." 

The  old  schoolmaster  went  awa}'^,  full  of  keen  apprehension 
as  to  Valentin's  sanity  A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  him ; 
there  had  been  something  supernatural,  he  thought,  in  the 
scene  he  had  passed  through.  He  could  hardly  believe  his 
own  impressions,  and  questioned  them  like  one  awakened 
from  a  painful  dream. 

"JSTow  attend  to  me,  Jonathan,"  said  the  young  man  to 
his  old  servant.  "Try  to  understand  the  charge  confided  to 
you." 

^'Yes,  my  Lord  Marquis." 

"I  am  as  a  man  outlawed  from  humanity." 

"Yesj  my  Lord  Marquis." 

"All  the  pleasures  of  life  disport  themselves  round  my  bed 
of  death,  and  dance  about  me  like  fair  women;  but  if  I 
beckon  to  them,  I  must  die.  Death  always  confronts  me. 
You  must  be  the  barrier  between  the  world  and  me." 

"Yes,  my  Lord  ]\rarquis,"  said  the  old  servant,  wiping  the 
drops  of  perspiration  from  his  wrinkled  forehead.  "But  if 
you  don't  wish  to  see  pretty  women,  how  will  you  manage  at 
the  Italiens  this  evening?  An  English  family  is  returning  to 
London,  and  I  have  taken  their  box  for  the  rest  of  the  sea- 


u86  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

son,  and  it  is  in  a  splendid  position — superb;  in  the  first 


TOW." 


Kaphael,  deep  in  his  own  deep  musings,  paid  no  attention 
to  him. 

Do  you  see  that  splendid  equipage,  a  brougham  painted  a 
dark  brown  color,  but  with  the  arms  of  an  ancient  and  noble 
family  shiner  from  the  panels?  As  it  rolls  past,  all  the 
shop-girls  aclniire  it,  and  look  longingly  at  the  yellow  satin 
lining,  the  rui:'S  from  la  Savonnerie,  the  daintiness  and  fresh- 
ness of  everv  detail,  the  silken  cushions  and  tightly-fitting 
glass  windov,  _.  Two  liveried  footmen  are  mounted  behind 
this  aristocratic  carriage;  and  within,  a  head  lies  back  among 
the  silken  cii'-hions,  the  feverish  face  and  hollow  eyes  of 
Eaphael,  melnneholy  and  sad.  Emblem  of  the  doom  of 
wealth !  He  11  lee  across  Paris  like  a  rocket,  and  reaches  the 
peristyle  of  the  Theatre  Favart.  The  passers-by  make  way 
for  him ;  tlie  i  v:o  footmen  help  him  to  alight,  an  envious 
crowd  lookiri'   •■])  the  while. 

*^hat  has  that  fellow  done  to  be  so  rich?"  asks  a  poor  law- 
student,  who  cnnnot  listen  to  the  magical  music  of  Rossini 
for  lack  of  a  f'^f-franc  piece. 

Raphael  walked  slowly  along  the  gangway;  he  expected  no 
enjoyment  fr'>m  these  pleasures  he  had  once  coveted  so 
eagerly.  In  the  interval  before  the  second  act  of  Semiramide 
he  walked  up  ;>nd  down  in  the  lobby,  and  along  the  corridors., 
leaving  his  ho>;,  which  he  had  not  yet  entered,  to  look  after  it- 
self. The  instinct  of  property  was  dead  within  him  already. 
Like  all  invalhls,  he  thought  of  nothing  but  his  own  suffer- 
ings. He  was  '  aning  against  the  chimney-piece  in  the  green- 
room. A  group  had  gathered  about  it  of  dandies,  young  and 
old,  of  ministers  and  ex-ministers,  of  peers  without  peerages, 
and  peerages  >^^!thout  peers,  for  so  the  Revolution  of  July  had 
ordered  matters.  Among  a  host  of  adventurers  and 
journalists,  It'  fact,  Raphael  beheld  a  strange,  imearthly 
figure  a  few  parses  away  among  the  crowd.  He  went  towards 
this  grotesque  nhjoct  to  see  it  better,  half-closing  his  eyes  with 
exceeding  superciliousness. 


THE  AGONY  187 

*^liat  a  wonderful  bit  of  painting!"  he  said  to  himself. 
The  stranger's  hair  and  eyebrows  and  a  Mazarin  tuft  on  the 
chin  had  been  dyed  black,  but  the  result  was  a  spurious, 
glossy,  purple  tint  that  varied  its  hues  according  to  the 
light;  the  hair  had  been  too  white,  no  doubt,  to  take  the 
preparation.  Anxiety  and  cunning  were  depicted  in  the  nar- 
row, insignificant  face,  with  its  wrinkles  incrusted  by  thick 
layers  of  red  and  white  paint.  This  red  enamel,  lacking  on 
some  portions  of  his  face,  strongly  brought  out  his  natural 
feebleness  and  livid  hues.  It  was  impossible  not  to  smile 
at  this  visage  with  the  protuberant  forehead  and  pointed 
chin,  a  face  not  unlike  those  grotesque  wooden  figures  that 
German  herdsmen  carve  in  their  spare  moments. 

An  attentive  observer  looking  from  Raphael  to  this  elderly 
Adonis  would  have  remarked  a  young  man's  eyes  set  in  a 
mask  of  age,  in  the  case  of  the  Marquis,  and  in  the  other  case 
the  dim  eyes  of  age  peering  forth  from  behind  a  mask  of 
youth.  Valentin  tried  to  recollect  when  and  where  he  had 
seen  this  little  old  man  before.  He  was  thin,  fastidiously 
cravatted,  booted  and  spurred  like  one-and-twenty ;  he  crossed 
his  arms  and  clinked  his  spurs  as  if  he  possessed  all  the 
wanton  energy  of  youth.  He  seemed  to  move  about  without 
constraint  or  difficulty.  He  had  carefully  buttoned  up  hia 
fashionable  coat,  which  disguised  his  powerful,  elderly  frame, 
and  gave  him  the  appearance  of  an  antiquated  coxcomb  who 
still  follows  the  fashions. 

For  Eaphael  this  animated  puppet  possessed  all  the  in- 
terest of  an  apparition.  He  gazed  at  it  as  if  it  had  been 
some  smoke-begrimed  Rembrandt,  recently  restored  and 
newly  framed.  This  idea  found  him  a  clue  to  the  truth 
among  his  confused  recollections ;  he  recognized  the  dealer  in 
antiquities,  the  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  calamities ! 

A  noiseless  laugh  broke  just  then  from  tbe  fantastical 
personage,  straightening  the  line  of  his  lips  that  stretched 
across  a  row  of  artificial  teeth.  That  laugh  brought  out,  for 
Raphael's  heated  fancy,  a  strong  resemblance  between  the 
man  before  him  and  the  type  of  head  that  painters  have 


188  THE  MAGIG  SKIN 

assigned  to  Goethe's  Mepliistopheles.  A  crowd  of  super- 
stitious thoughts  entered  Raphael's  sceptical  mind;  he  was 
convinced  of  the  powers  of  the  devil  and  of  all  the  sorcerer's 
enchantments  embodied  in  mediaeval  tradition,  and  since 
worked  up  by  poets.  Shrinking  in  horror  from  the  destiny 
of  Faust,  he  prayed  for  the  protection  of  Heaven  with  all 
the  ardent  faith  of  a  dying  man  in  God  and  the  Virgin.  A 
clear,  bright  radiance  seemed  to  give  him  a  glimpse  of  the 
heaven  of  Michael  Angelo  or  of  Eaphael  of  Urbino :  a  vener-/ 
able  white-bearded  man,  a  beautiful  woman  seated  in  an 
aureole  above  the  clouds  and  winged  cherub  heads.  Now  he 
had  grasped  and  received  the  meaning  of  those  imaginative, 
almost  human  creations;  they  seemed  to  explain  what  had 
happened  to  him,  to  leave  him  yet  one  hope. 

But  when  the  greenroom  of  the  Italiens  returned  upon 
his  sight  he  beheld,  not  the  Virgin,  but  a  very  handsome 
young  person  The  execrable  Euphrasia,  in  all  the  splendor 
of  her  toilette,  with  its  orient  pearls,  had  come  thither,  im- 
patient for  her  ardent,  elderly  admirer.  She  was  insolently 
exhibiting  herself  with  her  defiant  face  and  glittering  eyes 
to  an  envious  crowd  of  stockbrokers,  a  visible  testimony  to 
the  inexhaustible  wealth  that  the  old  dealer  permitted  her  to 
squander. 

Raphael  recollected  the  mocking  wish  with  which  he  had 
accepted  the  old  man's  luckless  gift,  and  tasted  all  the  sweets 
of  revenge  when  he  beheld  the  spectacle  of  sublime  wisdom 
fallen  to  such  a  depth  as  this,  wisdom  for  which  such  humilia- 
tion had  seemed  a  thing  impossible.  The  centenarian  greeted 
Euphrasia  with  a  ghastly  smile,  receiving  her  honeyed  words 
in  reply.  He  offered  her  his  emaciated  arm,  and  went  twice 
or  thrice  round  the  greenroom  with  her;  the  envious  glances 
and  compliments  with  which  the  crowd  received  his  mistress 
delighted  him;  he  did  not  see  the  scornful  smiles,  nor  hear 
the  caustic  comments  to  which  he  gave  rise. 

"In  what  cemetery  did  this  young  ghoul  unearth  that 
corpse  of  hers  ?"  asked  the  dandy  of  the  Romantic  faction. 

Euphrasia  began  to  smile.     The  speaker  was  a  slender, 


THE  AGONY  189 

fair-haired  youth,  with  bright  blue  eyes,  and  a  moustache. 
His  short  dress  coat,  hat  tilted  over  one  ear,  and  sharp  tongue, 
all  denoted  the  species. 

"How  many  old  men,^'  said  Eaphael  to  himself,  'T)ring  an 
upright,  virtuous,  and  hard-working  life  to  a  close  in  folly ! 
His  feet  are  cold  already,  and  he  is  making  love." 

"Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  Valentin,  stopping  the  merchant's 
progress,  while  he  stared  hard  at  Euphrasia,  "have  you  quite 
forgotten  the  stringent  maxims  of  your  philosophy  ?"  , 

"Ah,  I  am  as  happy  now  as  a  3"oung  man,"  said  the  other, 
in  a  cracked  voice.  "I  used  to  look  at  existence  from  a  wrong 
standpoint.     One  hour  of  love  has  a  whole  life  in  it." 

The  playgoers  heard  the  bell  ring,  and  left  the  greenroom 
to  take  their  places  again.  Eaphael  and  the  old  merchant 
separated.  As  he  entered  his  box,  the  Marquis  saw  Foedora 
sitting  exactly  opposite  to  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
theatre.  The  Countess  had  probably  only  just  come,  for  she 
was  just  flinging  off  her  scarf  to  leave  her  throat  uncovered, 
and  was  occupied  with  going  through  all  the  indescribable 
manoeuvres  of  a-  coquette  arranging  herself.  All  eyes  were 
turned  upon  her.  A  young  peer  of  France  had  come  with  her; 
she  asked  him  for  the  lorgnette  she  had  given  him  to  carry. 
Eaphael  knew  the  despotism  to  which  his  successor  had  re- 
signed himself,  in  her  gestures,  and  in  the  way  she  treated  her 
companion.  He  was  also  under  the  spell  no  doubt,  another 
dupe  beating  with  all  the  might  of  a  real  affection  against  the 
woman's  cold  calculations,  enduring  all  the  tortures  from 
which  Valentin  had  luckily  freed  himself. 

Fcedora's  face  lighted  up  with  indescribable  joy.  After 
directing  her  lorgnette  upon  every  box  in  turn,  to  make  a 
rapid  survey  of  all  the  dresses,  she  was  conscious  that  by  her 
toilette  and  her  beauty  she  had  eclipsed  the  loveliest  and  best- 
dressed  women  in  Paris.  She  laughed  to  show  her  white 
teeth;  her  head  with  its  wreath  of  flowers  was  never  still,  in 
her  quest  of  admiration.  Her  glances  went  from  one  box  to 
another,  as  she  diverted  herself  vnth  the  awkward  way  in 
which  a  Russian  princess  wore  her  bonnet,  or  over  the  utter 


lyu  TMiy  JMAGIG  SKIN 

failure  of  a  bonnet  with  which  a  banker's  daughter  had  dis- 
figured herself. 

All  at  once  she  met  EaphaeFs  steady  gaze  and  turned  pale, 
aghast  at  the  intolerable  contempt  in  her  rejected  lover's 
eyes.  Not  one  of  her  exiled  suitors  had  failed  to  own  her 
power  over  them;  Valentin  alone  was  proof  against  her  at- 
tractions. A  power  that  can  be  defied  with  impunity  is  draw- 
ing to  its  end.  This  axiom  is  as  deeply  engraved  on  the  heart 
of  woman  as  in  the  minds  of  kings.  In  Eaphael,  therefore, 
Foedora  saw  the  deathblow  of  her  influence  and  her  ability 
to  please.  An  epigram  of  his,  made  at  the  Opera  the  day  be- 
fore, was  already  known  in  the  salons  of  Paris.  The  biting 
edge  of  that  terrible  speech  had  already  given  the  Countess 
an  incurable  wound.  We  know  how  to  cauterize  a  wound,  but 
we  know  of  no  treatment  as  yet  for  the  stab  of  a  phrase.  As 
every  other  woman  in  the  house  looked  by  turns  at  her  and 
at  the  Marquis,  Foedora  would  have  consigned  them  all  to  the 
oubliettes  of  some  Bastille;  for  in  spite  of  her  capacity  for 
dissimulation,  her  discomfiture  was  discerned  by  her  rivals. 
Her  unfailing  consolation  had  slipped  from  her  at  last.  The 
delicious  thought,  "I  am  the  most  beautiful,"  the  thought  that 
at  all  times  had  soothed  every  mortification,  had  turned  into 
a  lie. 

At  the  opening  of  the  second  act  a  woman  took  up  her 
position  not  very  far  from  Eaphael,  in  a  box  that  had  been 
empty  hitherto.  A  murmur  of  admiration  went  up  from  the 
whole  house.  In  that  sea  of  human  faces  there  was  a  move- 
ment of  every  living  wave;  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  the 
stranger  lady.  The  applause  of  young  and  old  was  so  pro- 
longed, that  when  the  orchestra  began,  the  musicians  turned 
to  the  audience  to  request  silence,  and  then  they  themselves 
joined  in  the  plaudits  and  swelled  the  confusion.  Excited 
talk  began  in  every  box,  every  woman  equipped  herself  with  an 
opera  glass,  elderly  men  grew  young  again,  and  polished  the 
glasses  of  their  lorgnettes  with  their  gloves.  The  enthusiasm 
subsided  by  degrees,  the  stage  echoed  with  the  voices  of  the 
singers,  and  order  reigned  as  before.    The  aristocratic  section, 


THE  AGONY  191 

ashamed  of  having  yielded  to  a  spontaneous  feeling,  again 
assumed  their  wonted  politely  frigid  manner.  The  well-to-do 
dislike  to  be  astonished  at  anything;  at  the  first  sight  of  a 
beautiful  thing  it  becomes  their  duty  to  discover  the  defect 
in  it  which  absolves  them  from  admiring  it, — the  feeling  of  all 
ordinary  minds.  Yet  a  few  still  remained  motionless  and 
heedless  of  the  music,  artlessly  absorbed  in  the  delight  of 
watching  Eaphael's  neighbor. 

Valentin  noticed  Taillefer's  mean,  obnoxious  countenance 
by  Aquilina's  side  in  a  lower  box,  and  received  an  approving 
smirk  from  him.  Then  he  saw  fimile,  who  seemed  to  say 
from  where  he  stood  in  the  orchestra,  "Just  look  at  that  lovely 
creature  there,  close  beside  you !"  Lastly,  he  saw  Rastignac, 
with  Mme.  de  Nucingen  and  her  daughter,  twisting  his  gloves 
like  a  man  in  despair,  because  he  was  tethered  to  his  place, 
and  could  not  leave  it  to  go  any  nearer  to  the  unknown  fair 
divinity. 

Raphael's  life  depended  upon  a  covenant  that  he  had  made 
with  himself,  and  had  hitherto  kept  sacred.  He  would  give 
no  special  heed  to  any  woman  whatever;  and  the  better  to 
guard  against  temptation,  he  used  a  cunningly  contrived 
opera-glass  which  destroyed  the  harmony  of  the  fairest  fea- 
tures by  hideous  distortions.  He  had  not  recovered  from  the 
terror  that  had  seized  on  him  in  the  morning  when,  at  a  mere 
expression  of  civility,  the  Magic  Skin  had  contracted  so 
abruptly.  So  Raphael  was  determined  not  to  turn  his  face  in 
the  direction  of  his  neighbor.  He  sat  imperturbable  as  a 
duchess  with  his  back  against  the  corner  of  the  box,  thereby 
shutting  out  half  of  his  neighbor's  view  of  the  stage,  appear- 
ing to  disregard  her,  and  even  to  be  unaware  that  a  pretty 
woman  sat  there  just  behind  him. 

His  neighbor  copied  Valentin's  position  exactly ;  she  leaned 
her  elbow  on  the  edge  of  her  box  and  turned  her  face  in  three- 
quarter  profile  upon  the  singers  on  the  stage,  as  if  she  were 
sitting  to  a  painter.  These  two  people  looked  like  two  es- 
tranged lovers  still  culking,  still  turning  their  backs  upon 
each  other,  who  will  go  into  each  other's  arms  at  the  first 
tender  word. 


192  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

Now  and  again  his  neighbor's  ostrich  feathers  or  her  hair 
came  in  contact  with  Raphael's  head,  giving  him  a  pleasurable 
thrill,  against  which  he  sternly  fought.  In  a  little  while  he 
felt  the  touch  of  the  soft  frill  of  lace  that  went  round  her 
dress;  he  could  hear  the  gracious  sounds  of  the  folds  of  her 
dress  itself,  light  rustling  noises  full  of  enchantment ;  he  couldi 
even  feel  her  movements  as  she  breathed ;  with  the  gentle  stir 
thus  imparted  to  her  form  and  to  her  draperies,  it  seemed  to 
Eaphael  that  all  her  being  was  suddenly  communicated  to 
him  in  an  electric  spark.  The  lace  and  tulle  that  caressed  him 
imparted  the  delicious  warmth  of  her  bare,  white  shoulders. 
By  a  freak  in  the  ordering  of  things,  these  two  creatures,  kept 
apart  by  social  conventions,  with  the  abysses  of  death  between 
them,  breathed  together  and  perhaps  thought  of  one  another. 
Finally,  the  subtle  perfume  of  aloes  completed  the  work  of 
Raphael's  intoxication.  Opposition  heated  his  imagination, 
and  his  fancy,  become  the  wilder  for  the  limits  imposed  upon 
it,  sketched  a  woman  for  him  in  outlines  of  fire.  He  turned 
abruptly,  the  stranger  made  a  similar  movement,  startled  no 
doubt  at  being  brought  in  contact  with  a  stranger;  and  they 
remained  face  to  face,  each  with  the  same  thought. 

"Pauline !" 

"M.  Eaphael  V 

Each  surveyed  the  other,  both  of  them  petrified  with  aston- 
ishment. Raphael  noticed  Pauline's  daintily  simple  costume, 
A  woman's  experienced  eyes  would  have  discerned  and  ad- 
mired the  outlines  beneath  the  modest  gauze  folds  of  her 
bodice  and  the  lily  whiteness  of  her  throat.  And  then  her 
more  than  mortal  clearness  of  soul,  her  maidenly  modesty, 
her  graceful  bearing,  all  were  unchanged.  Her  sleeve  was 
quivering  with  agitation,  for  the  beating  of  her  heart  was 
shaking  her  whole  frame. 

"Come  to  the  Hotel  de  Saint-Quentin  to-morrow  for  your 
papers,"  she  said.    "I  will  be  there  at  noon.    Be  punctual." 

She  rose  hastily,  and  disappeared.  Raphael  thought  of  fol- 
lowing Pauline,  feared  to  compromise  her,  and  stayed.  He 
looked  at  FcEdora;  she  seemed  to  him  positively  ugly.    Unable 


THE  AGONY  193 

to  understand  a  single  phrase  of  the  music,  and  feeling  stifled 
in  the  theatre,  he  went  out,  and  returned  home  with  a  full 
heart. 

"Jonathan/'  he  said  to  the  old  servant,  as  soon  as  he  lay  in 
bed,  "give  me  half  a  drop  of  laudanum  on  a  piete  of  sugar, 
and  don't  wake  me  to-morrow  till  twenty  minutes  to  twelve." 

"I  want  Pauline  to  love  me  \"  he  cried  next  morning,  look- 
ing at  the  talisman  the  while  in  unspeakable  anguish. 
I     The  skin  did  not  move  in  the  least ;  it  seemed  to  have  lost 
its  power  to  shrink;  doubtless  it  could  not  fulfil  a  wish  ful- 
filled already. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Eaphael,  feeling  as  if  a  mantle  of  lead 
had  fallen  away,  which  he  had  worn  ever  since  the  day  when 
the  talisman  had  been  given  to  him ;  "so  you  are  playing  me 
false,  you  are  not  obeying  me,  the  pact  is  broken!  I  am 
free ;  I  shall  live.  Then  was  it  all  a  wretched  joke  ?"  But  he 
did  not  dare  to  believe  in  his  own  thought  as  he  uttered  it. 

He  dressed  himself  as  simply  as  had  formerly  been  his 
wont,  and  set  out  on  foot  for  his  old  lodging,  trying  to  go 
back  in  fancy  to  the  happy  days  when  he  abandoned  himself 
without  peril  to  vehement  desires,  the  days  when  he  had  not 
yet  condemned  all  human  enjoyment.  As  he  walked  he  be- 
held Pauline — not  the  Pauline  of  the  Hotel  Saint-Quentin^ 
but  the  Pauline  of  last  evening.  Here  was  the  accomplished 
mistress  he  had  so  often  dreamed  of,  the  intelligent  young 
girl  with  the  loving  nature  and  artistic  teaaperament,  who 
understood  poets,  who  understood  poetry,  and  lived  in  lux- 
urious surroundings.  Here,  in  short,  was  Foedora,  gifted 
with  a  great  soul ;  or  Pauline  become  a  countess,  and  twice  a 
millionaire,  as  Foedora  had  been.  When  he  reached  the  worn 
threshold,  and  stood  upon  the  broken  step  at  the  door,  where 
in  old  days  he  had  had  so  many  desperate  thoughts,  an  old 
woman  came  out  of  the  room  within  and  spoke  to  him. 

"You  are  M.  Eaphael  de  Valentin,  are  you  not  ?" 

*^es,  good  mother,"  he  replied. 

'*You  know  your  old  room  then/*  she  replied;  "you  are 
expected  up  there." 

13 


194  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"Does  Mme.  Gaudin  still  own  the  house?"  Raphael  askecL 

"Oh  no,  sir.  Mme.  Gaudin  is  a  baroness  now.  She  lives  in 
a  fine  house  of  her  own  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Her 
husband  has  come  back.  My  goodness,  he  brought  back 
thousands  and  thousands.  They  say  she  could  buy  up  all  the 
Quartier  Saint-Jacques  if  she  liked.  She  gave  me  her  base- 
ment room  for  nothing,  and  the  remainder  of  her  lease.  Ah^ 
she's  a  kind  woman  all  the  same;  she  is  no  more  proud  to-day 
than  she  was  yesterday." 

Eaphael  hurried  up  the  staircase  to  his  garret ;  as  he  reached 
the  last  few  steps  he  heard  the  sounds  of  a  piano.  Pauline 
was  there,  simply  dressed  in  a  cotton  gown,  but  the  way  that 
it  was  made,  like  the  gloves,  hat,  and  shawl  that  she  had 
thrown  down  carelessly  upon  the  bed,  revealed  a  change  of 
fortune. 

"Ah,  there  you  are !"  cried  Pauline,  turning  her  head,  and 
rising  with  unconcealed  delight. 

Eaphael  went  to  sit  beside  her,  flushed,  confused,  and 
happy;  he  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

'^Vhy  did  you  leave  us  then  ?"  she  asked,  dropping  her  eyes 
as  the  flush  deepened  on  his  face.    "What  became  of  you  ?" 

"Ah,  I  have  been  very  miserable,  Pauline ;  I  am  very  mis- 
erable still." 

"Alas !"  she  said,  filled  with  pitying  tenderness.  "I  guessed 
your  fate  yesterday  when  I  saw  you  so  well  dressed,  and  ap- 
parently so  wealthy;  but  in  reality?  Eh,  M.  Eaphael,  is  it 
as  it  always  used  to  be  with  you  ?" 

Valentin  could  not  restrain  the  tears  that  sprang  to  his 
eyes. 

"Pauline,"  he  exclaimed,  "I " 

He  went  no  further,  love  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  and  his  emo- 
tion overflowed  his  face. 

"Oh,  he  loves  me  !  he  loves  me  !"  cried  Pauline. 

Eaphael  felt  himself  unable  to  say  one  word ;  he  bent  his 
head.  The  young  girl  took  his  hand  at  this;  she  pressed  it 
as  she  said,  half  sobbing  and  half  laughing: — 

"Eieh,  rich,  happy  and  rich !    Your  Pauline  is  rich.    But 


THE  AGONY  195 

I  ?  Oh,  r  ought  to  be  very  poor  to-day.  I  have  said,  times 
without  number,  that  I  would  give  all  the  wealth  upon  this 
earth  for  those  words,  'He  loves  me !'  0  my  Eaphael !  I  have 
millions.  You  like  luxury,  you  will  be  glad;  but  you  must 
love  me  and  my  heart  besides,  for  there  is  so  much  love  for 
you  in  my  heart.  You  don't  know?  My  father  has  come 
back.  I  am  a  wealthy  heiress.  Both  he  and  my  mother  leave 
me  completely  free  to  decide  my  own  fate.  I  am  free — do 
you  understand  ?" 

Seized  with  a  kind  of  frenzy,  Raphael  grasped  Pauline's 
hands  and  kissed  them  eagerly  and  vehemently,  with  an  al- 
most convulsive  caress.  Pauline  drew  her  hands  away,  laid 
them  on  Raphael's  shoulders,  and  drew  him  towards  her. 
They  understood  one  another — in  that  close  embrace,  in  the 
unalloyed  and  sacred  fervor  of  that  one  kiss  without  an  after- 
thought— the  first  kiss  by  which  two  souls  take  possession  of 
each  other. 

"Ah,  I  will  not  leave  you  any  more,"  said  Pauline,  falling 
back  in  her  chair.  "I  do  not  know  how  I  come  to  be  so  bold  I" 
she  added,  blushing. 

"Bold,  my  Pauline  ?  Do  not  fear  it.  It  is  love,  love  true 
and  deep  and  everlasting  like  my  own,  is  it  not  ?'' 

"Speak!"  she  cried.  "Go  on  speaking,  so  long  your  lip.<3 
have  been  dumb  for  me." 

"Then  you  have  loved  me  all  along  ?" 

*T(Oved  you?  Mon  Dieu!  How  often  I  have  wept  here, 
setting  your  room  straight,  and  grieving  for  your  poverty 
and  my  own.  I  would  have  sold  myself  to  the  evil  one  to 
spare  you  one  vexation !  You  are  my  Raphael  to-day,  really 
my  own  Raphael,  with  that  handsome  head  of  j^ours,  and 
your  heart  is  mine  too;  yes,  that  above  all,  your  heart — 0 
wealth  inexhaustible !  Well,  where  was  I  ?"  she  went  on  after 
a  pause.  "Oh  yes !  We  have  three,  four,  or  five  millions,  I 
believe.  If  I  were  poor,  I  should  perhaps  desire  to  bear  your 
name,  to  be  acknowledged  as  your  wife ;  but  as  it  is,  I  would 
give  up  the  whole  world  for  you,  I  would  be  your  servant 
still,  now  and  always.    Why,  Raphael,  if  I  give  you  my  for- 


196  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

tune,  my  heart,  myself  to-day,  I  do  no  more  than  I  did  that 
day  when  I  put  a  certain  five-franc  piece  in  the  drawer 
there,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  table.  "Oh,  how  your  exulta- 
tion hurt  me  then !" 

"Oh,  why  are  you  rich  ?"  Eaphael  cried ;  "why  is  there  no 
vanity  in  you  ?    I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

He  wrung  his  hands  in  despair  and  happiness  and  love. 

"When  you  are  the  Marquise  de  Valentin,  I  know  that  the 
title  and  the  fortune  for  thee,  heavenly  soul,  will  not  be 
worth " 

"One  hair  of  your  head,"  she  cried. 

"I  have  millions  too.  But  what  is  wealth  to  either  of  us 
now  ?    There  is  my  life — ah,  that  I  can  offer,  take  it." 

"Your  love,  Eaphael,  your  love  is  all  the  world  to  me.  Are 
your  thoughts  of  me  ?    I  am  the  happiest  of  the  happy !" 

"Can  any  one  overhear  us  ?"  asked  Eaphael. 

"Nobody,"  she  replied,  and  a  mischievous  gesture  escaped 
her. 

"Come,  then !"  cried  Valentin,  holding  out  his  arms. 

She  sprang  upon  his  knees  and  clasped  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

"Kiss  me !"  she  cried,  "after  all  the  pain  you  have  given 
me ;  to  blot  out  the  memory  of  the  grief  that  your  joys  have 
caused  me;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  nights  that  I  spent  in 
painting  hand-screens " 

"Those  hand-screens  of  yours  ?" 

"Now  that  we  are  rich,  my  darling,  I  can  tell  you  all  about 
it.  Poor  boy  !  how  easy  it  is  to  delude  a  clever  man !  Could 
you  have  had  white  waistcoats  and  clean  shirts  twice  a  week 
for  three  francs  every  month  to  the  laundress?  Why,  you 
used  to  drink  twice  as  much  milk  as  your  money  would  have 
paid  for.  I  deceived  you  all  round — over  firing,  oil,  and  even 
money.  0  Eaphael  mine,  don't  have  me  for  your  wife,  I  am 
far  too  cunning !"  she  said  laughing. 

*^But  how  did  you  manage  ?" 

**I  used  to  work  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  I  gave  my 


THE  AGONY  197 

mother  half  the  money  made  by  my  screens,  and  the  other 
half  went  to  you." 

They  looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment,  both  bewildered 
by  love  and  gladness. 

"Some  day  we  shall  have  to  pay  for  this  happiness  by  some 
terrible  sorrow,"  cried  Raphael. 

"Perhaps  you  are  married?"  said  Pauline.  "Oh,  I  will 
not  give  you  up  to  any  other  woman." 

"I  am  free,  my  beloved." 

"Free  !"  she  repeated.    "Free,  and  mine !" 

She  slipped  down  upon  her  knees,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
looked  at  Eaphael  in  an  enthusiasm  of  devotion. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  go  mad.  How  handsome  you  are !" 
she  went  on,  passing  her  fingers  through  her  lover's  fair  hair. 
"How  stupid  your  Countess  Foedora  is !  How  pleased  I  was 
yesterday  with  the  homage  they  all  paid  to  me !  She  has 
never  been  applauded.  Dear,  when  I  felt  your  arm  against 
my  back,  I  heard  a  vague  voice  within  me  that  cried,  'He  is 
there !'  and  I  turned  round  and  saw  you.  I  fled,  for  I  longed 
so  to  throw  my  arms  about  you  before  them  all." 

How  happy  you  are — you  can  speak !"  Raphael  exclaimed. 
My  heart  is  overwhelmed ;  I  would  weep,  but  I  cannot.  Do 
not  draw  your  hand  away.  I  could  stay  here  looking  at  you 
like  this  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  I  think ;  happy  and  content." 

"0  my  love,  say  that  once  more !" 

"Ah,  what  are  words?"  answered  Valentin,  letting  a  hot 
tear  fall  on  Pauline's  hands.  "Some  time  I  will  try  to  tell 
you  of  my  love ;  just  now  I  can  only  feel  it." 

"You,"  she  said,  "with  your  lofty  soul  and  your  great 
genius,  with  that  heart  of  yours  that  I  know  so  well ;  are  you 
really  mine,  as  I  am  yours  ?"  i 

"For  ever  and  ever,  my  sweet  creature,"  said  Raphael  in  an' 
uncertain  voice.  "You  shall  be  my  wife,  my  protecting  angel. 
My  griefs  have  always  been  dispelled  by  your  presence,  and 
my  courage  revived;  that  angelic  smile  now  on  your  lips  has 
purified  me,  so  to  speak.  A  new  life  seems  about  to  begin  for 
me.    The  cruel  past  and  my  wretched  follies  are  hardly  more 


((■ 


19S  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

to  me  than  evil  dreams.  At  your  side  I  breathe  an  at- 
mosphere of  happiness,  and  I  am  pure.  Be  with  me  always/' 
he  added,  pressing  her  solemnly  to  his  beating  heart. 

"Death  may  come  when  it  will,"  said  Pauline  in  ecstasy; 
'T.  have  lived  V 

Happy  he  who  shall  divine  their  joy,  for  he  must  have 
experienced  it. 

"I  wish  that  no  one  might  enter  this  dear  garret  again, 
my  Eaphael/'  said  Pauline,  after  two  hours  of  silence. 

"We  must  have  the  door  walled  up,  put  bars  across  the 
window,  and  buy  the  house,"  the  Marquis  answered. 

"Yes,  we  will,"  she  said.  Then  a  moment  later  she  added : 
"Our  search  for  your  manuscripts  has  been  a  little  lost  sight 
of,"  and  they  both  laughed  like  children. 

"Pshaw!  I  don't  care  a  Jot  for  the  whole  circle  of  the 
sciences,"  Eaphael  answered. 

'Ah,  sir,  and  how  about  glory  ?" 

'I  glory  in  you  alone." 

"You  used  to  be  very  miserable  as  you  made  these  little 
scratches  and  scrawls,"  she  said,  turning  the  papers  over. 

"My  Pauline " 


«i 


((( 


'Oh  yes,  I  am  your  Pauline — and  what  then  ?" 

"Where  are  you  living  now  ?" 

"In  the  Eue  Saint  Lazare.    And  you  ?" 

"In  the  Eue  de  Varenne." 

"What  a  long  way  apart  we  shall  be  until "     She 

stopped,  and  looked  at  her  lover  with  a  mischievous  and  co- 
quettish expression. 

"But  at  the  most  we  need  only  be  separated  for  a  fort- 
night," Eaphael  answered. 

"Eeally!  we  are  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight?"  and  she 
(jumped  for  joy  like  a  child. 

"I  am  an  unnatural  daughter !"  she  went  on.  "I  give  no 
more  thought  to  my  father  or  my  mother,  or  to  anything  in 
the  world.  Poor  love,  you  don't  know  that  my  father  is  very 
ill?  He  returned  from  the  Indies  in  very  bad  health.  He 
nearly  died  at  Havre,  where  we  went  to  find  him.     Good 


THE  AGONY  199 

heavens !"  she  cried,  looking  at  her  watch ;  "it  is  three  o'clock 
already !  I  ought  to  be  back  again  when  he  wakes  at  four, 
I  am  mistress  of  the  house  at  home;  my  mother  does  every- 
thing that  I  wish,  and  my  father  worships  me ;  but  I  will  not 
abuse  their  kindness,  that  would  be  wrong.  My  poor  father ! 
He  would  have  me  go  to  the  Italiens  yesterday.  You  will 
come  to  see  him  to-morrow,  will  you  not  ?" 

"Will  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Valentin  honor  me  by  tak- 
ing my  arm?" 

"I  am  going  to  take  the  key  of  this  room  away  with  me/' 
she  said.    "Isn't  our  treasure-house  a  palace  ?" 

"One  more  kiss,  Pauline." 

"A  thousand,  mon  Dieu!"  she  said,  looking  at  Eaphael. 
*^''ill  it  always  be  like  this  ?    I  feel  as  if  I  were  dreaming." 

They  went  slowly  down  the  stairs  together,  step  for  step, 
with  arms  closely  linked,  trembling  both  of  them  beneath 
their  load  of  joy.  Each  pressing  close  to  the  other's  side, 
like  a  pair  of  doves,  they  reached  the  Place  de  la  Sorbonne, 
where  Pauline's  carriage  was  waiting. 

"I  want  to  go  home  with  you,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  see 
your  own  room  and  your  stud}^  and  to  sit  at  the  table  where 
you  work.    It  will  be  like  old  times,"  she  said,  blushing. 

She  spoke  to  the  servant.  "Joseph,  before  returning  home 
I  am  going  to  the  Rue  de  Varenne.  It  is  a  quarter-past  three 
now,  and  I  must  be  back  again  by  four  o'clock.  George  must 
hurry  the  horses."  And  so  in  a  few  moments  the  lovers  came 
to  Valentin's  abode. 

"How  glad  I  am  to  have  seen  all  this  for  myself !"  Pauline 
cried,  creasing  the  silken  bed-curtains  in  Eaphael's  room  be- 
tween her  fingers.  "As  I  go  to  sleep,  I  shall  be  here  in 
thought.  I  shall  imagine  your  dear  head  on  the  pillow  there. 
Raphael,  tell  me,  did  no  one  advise  you  about  the  furniture 
of  your  hotel  ?" 

"No  one  whatever." 

"Eeally  ?    It  was  not  a  woman  who " 

"Pauline !" 

"Oh,  I  know  I  am  fearfully  jealous.  You  have  good  taste. 
I  will  have  a  bed  like  yours  to-morrow." 


200  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

Quite  beside  himself  with  happiness,  Eaphael  caught  Pau- 
line in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  my  father !"  she  said ;  "my  father " 

"I  will  take  you  back  to  him,"  cried  Valentin,  "for  I  want 
to  be  away  from  you  as  little  as  possible." 

"How  loving  you  are!  I  did  not  venture  to  suggest 
it " 

"Are  you  not  my  life  ?" 

It  would  be  tedious  to  set  down  accurately  the  charming 
prattle  of  the  lovers,  for  tones  and  looks  and  gestures  that 
cannot  be  rendered  alone  gave  it  significance.  Valentin  went 
back  with  Pauline  to  her  own  door,  and  returned  with  as 
much  happiness  in  his  heart  as  mortal  man  can  know. 

When  he  was  seated  in  his  armchair  beside  the  fire,  think- 
ing over  the  sudden  and  complete  way  in  which  his  wishes 
had  been  fulfilled,  a  cold  shiver  went  through  him,  as  if  the 
blade  of  a  dagger  had  been  plunged  into  his  breast — he 
thought  of  the  Magic  Skin,  and  saw  that  it  had  shrunk 
a  little.  He  uttered  the  most  tremendous  of  French  oaths, 
without  any  of  the  Jesuitical  reservations  made  by  the  Ab- 
bess of  Andouillettes,  leant  his  head  against  the  back  of  the 
chair,  and  sat  motionless,  fixing  his  unseeing  eyes  upon  the 
bracket  of  the  curtain  pole. 

"Good  God !"  he  cried;  "every  wish !  Every  desire  of  mine ! 
Poor  Pauline  ! " 

He  took  a  pair  of  compasses  and  measured  the  extent  of 
existence  that  the  morning  had  cost  him. 

"I  have  scarcely  enough  for  two  months  \"  he  said. 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  over  him;  moved  by  an  ungovern- 
able spasm  of  rage,  he  seized  the  Magic  Skin,  exclaiming : 

"I  am  a  perfect  fool !" 

He  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  across  the  garden,  and 
flung  the  talisman  down  a  well. 

"Vogue  la  gaUre"  cried  he.    "The  devil  take  all  this  non- 


sense." 


So  Eaphael  gave  himself  up  to  the  happiness  of  being 
beloved,  and  led  with  Pauline  the  life  of  heart  and  heart. 


THE  AGONY  201 

Diflfieiilties  which  it  would  be  somewhat  tedious  to  describe 
had  delayed  their  marriage,  which  was  to  take  place  early 
in  March.  Each  was  sure  of  the  other;  their  affection  had 
been  tried,  and  happiness  had  taught  them  how  strong  it 
was.  Never  has  love  made  two  souls,  two  natures,  so  ab- 
solutely one.  The  more  they  came  to  know  of  each  other, 
the  more  they  loved.  On  either  side  there  was  the  same 
hesitating  delicacy,  the  same  transports  of  joy  such  as  angels 
'know;  there  were  no  clouds  in  their  heaven;  the  will  of  eithei 
was  the  other's  law. 

Wealthy  as  they  both  were,  they  had  not  a  caprice  which 
they  could  not  gratify,  and  for  that  reason  had  no  caprices. 
A  refined  taste,  a  feeling  for  beauty  and  poetry,  was  instinct 
in  the  soul  of  the  bride;  her  lover's  smile  was  more  to  her 
than  all  the  pearls  of  Ormuz.  She  disdained  feminine 
finery;  a  muslin  dress  and  flowers  formed  her  most  elaborate 
toilette. 

Pauline  and  Raphael  shunned  every  one  else,  for  solitude 
was  abundantly  beautiful  to  them.  The  idlers  at  the  Opera, 
or  at  the  Italiens,  saw  this  charming  and  unconventional 
pair  evening  after  evening.  Some  gossip  went  the  round  of  the 
salons  at  first,  but  the  harmless  lovers  were  soon  forgotten  in 
the  course  of  events  wliich  took  place  in  Paris;  their 
marriage  was  announced  at  length  to  excuse  them  in  the 
eyes  of  the  prudish;  and  as  it  happened,  their  servants  did 
not  babble ;  so  their  bliss  did  not  draw  down  upon  them  any 
very  severe  punishment. 

One  morning  towards  the  end  of  February,  at  the  time 
when  the  brightening  days  bring  a  belief  in  the  nearness  of 
the  joys  of  spring,  Pauline  and  Raphael  were  breakfasting 
together  in  a  small  conservator}^  a  kind  of  drawing-room 
filled  with  flowers,  on  a  level  with  the  garden.  The  mild 
rays  of  the  pale  winter  sunlight,  breaking  through  the  thicket 
of  exotic  plants,  warmed  the  air  somewhat.  The  vivid  con- 
trast made  by  the  varieties  of  foliage,  the  colors  of  the 
masses  of  flowciing  shrubs,  the  freaks  of  light  and  shadow, 
gladdened  the  eyes.     While  all  the  rest  of  Paris  still  sought 


202  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

■warmth  from  its  melancholy  hearth,  these  two  were  laugh- 
ing in  a  bower  of  camellias,  lilacs,  and  blossoming  heath. 
Their  happy  faces  rose  above  lilies  of  the  valley,  narcissus, 
blooms,  and  Bengal  roses.  A  mat  of  plaited  African  grass, 
variegated  like  a  carpet,  lay  beneath  their  feet  in  this 
luxurious  conservatory.  The  walls,  covered  with  a  green 
linen  material,  bore  no  traces  of  damp.  The  surfaces  of  the- 
rustic  wooden  furniture  shone  with  cleanliness.  A  kitten, 
attracted  by  the  odor  of  milk,  had  established  itself  upon 
the  table ;  it  allowed  Pauline  to  bedabble  it  in  coffee ;  she  was 
playing  merrily  with  it,  taking  away  the  cream  that  she  had 
just  allowed  the  kitten  to  sniff  at,  so  as  to  exercise  its 
patience,  and  keep  up  the  contest.  She  burst  out  laughing 
at  every  antic,  and  by  the  comical  remarks  she  constantly 
made,  she  hindered  Eaphael  from  perusing  the  paper ;  he  had 
dropped  it  a  dozen  times  already.  This  morning  picture 
seemed  to  overflow  with  inexpressible  gladness,  like  every- 
thing that  is  natural  and  genuine. 

Eaphael,  still  pretending  to  read  his  paper,  furtively 
watched  Pauline  with  the  cat — his  Pauline,  in  the  dressing- 
gown  that  hung  carelessly  about  her;  his  Pauline,  with  her 
hair  loose  on  her  shoulders,  with  a  tiny,  white,  blue-veined 
foot  peeping  out  of  a  velvet  slipper.  It  was  pleasant  to 
see  her  in  this  negligent  dress;  she  was  delightful  as  some 
fanciful  picture  by  Westall;  half-girl,  half-woman,  as  she 
seemed  to  be,  or  perhaps  more  of  a  girl  than  a  woman,  there 
was  no  alloy  in  the  happiness  she  enjoyed,  and  of  love  she 
knew  as  yet  only  its  first  ecstasy.  When  Raphael,  absorbed 
in  happy  musing,  had  forgotten  the  existence  of  the  news- 
paper, Pauline  flew  upon  it,  crumpled  it  up  into  a  ball,  and 
threw  it  out  into  the  garden;  the  kitten  sprang  after  the 
rotating  object,  which  spun  round  and  round,  as  politics 
are  wont  to  do.  This  childish  scene  recalled  Raphael  to 
himself.  He  would  have  gone  on  reading,  and  felt  for  the  sheet 
that  he  no  longer  possessed.  Joyous  laughter  rang  out  like 
the  song  of  a  bird,  one  peal  leading  to  another. 

"I  am  quite  jealous  of  the  paper,"  she  said,  as  she  wiped 


THE  AGONY  '203 

away  the  tears  that  her  childlike  merriment  had  brought 
into  her  eyes.  "Now,  is  it  not  a  heinous  offence,"  she  went 
on,  as  she  became  a  woman  all  at  once,  "to  read  Eussian 
proclamations  in  my  presence,  and  to  attend  to  the  prosings 
of  the  Emperor  jSTicholas  rather  than  to  looks  and  words  of 
love !" 

"I  was  not  reading,  my  dear  angel;  I  was  looking  at 

you.- 

Just  then  the  gravel  walk  outside  the  conservatory  rang 
with  the  sound  of  the  gardener's  heavily  nailed  boots. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord  Marquis — and  yours,  too, 
madame — if  I  am  intruding,  but  I  have  brought  you  a 
curiosity  the  like  of  which  I  never  set  eyes  on.  Drawing  a 
bucket  of  water  just  now,  with  due  respect,  I  got  out  this 
strange  salt-water  plant.  Here  it  is.  It  must  be  thoroughly 
used  to  water,  anyhow,  for  it  isn't  saturated  or  even  damp 
at  all.  It  is  as  dry  as  a  piece  of  wood,  and  has  not  swelled 
a  bit.  As  my  Lord  Marquis  certainly  knows  a  great  deal 
more  about  things  than  I  do,  I  thought  I  ought  to 
bring  it,  and  that  it  would  interest  him." 

Therewith  the  gardener  showed  Eaphael  the  inexorable 
piece  of  skin ;  there  were  barely  six  square  inches  of  it  left. 

"Thanks,  Vaniere,"  Eaphael  said.  "The  thing  is  very 
curious." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  angel;  you  are  grow- 
ing quite  white !"  Pauline  cried. 

"You  can  go,  Vaniere." 

"Your  voice  frightens  me,"  the  girl  went  on;  "it  is  so 
strangely  altered.  What  is  it?  How  are  you  feeling? 
Where  is  the  pain  ?  You  are  in  pain ! — Jonathan !  here ! 
call  a  doctor !"  she  cried. 

"Hush,  my  Pauline,"  Eaphael  answered,  as  he  regained 
composure.  "Let  us  get  up  and  go.  Some  flower  here  has 
a  scent  that  is  too  much  for  me.  It  is  that  verbena,  per- 
haps." 

Pauline  flew  upon  the  innocent  plant,  seized  it  by  the 
stalk,  and  flung  it  out  into  the  garden;  then  with  all  the 


204  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

might  of  the  love  between  them,  she  clasped  Raphael  in  a 
close  embrace,  and  with  languishing  coquetry  raised  her  red 
lips  to  his  for  a  kiss. 

"Dear  angel,"  she  cried,  "when  I  saw  you  turn  so  white, 
I  understood  that  I  could  not  live  on  without  you;  your 
life  is  my  life  too.  Lay  your  hand  on  my  back,  Raphael 
mine;  I  feel  a  chill  like  death.  The  feeling  of  cold  is  there 
yet.  Your  lips  are  burning.  How  is  your  hand? — Cold  as 
'ice,"  she  added. 

"Mad  girl !"  exclaimed  Raphael. 

"Why  that  tear?     Let  me  drink  it." 

"0  Pauline,  Pauline,  you  love  me  far  too  much !" 

"There  is  something  very  extraordinary  going  on  in  your 
mind,  Raphael !  Do  not  dissimulate.  I  shall  very  soon 
find  out  your  secret.  Give  that  to  me,"  she  went  on,  taking 
the  Magic  Skin. 

"You  are  my  executioner !"  the  young  man  exclaimed, 
glancing  in  horror  at  the  talisman. 

"How  changed  your  voice  is !"  cried  Pauline,  as  she 
dropped  the  f;i{al  symbol  of  destiny. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  he  asked. 

"Do  I  love  you  ?     Is  there  any  doubt  ?" 

"Then,  leave  me ;  go  away !" 

The  poor  child  went. 

"So !"  cried  Raphael,  when  he  was  alone.  "In  an  en- 
lightened age,  when  we  have  found  out  that  diamonds  are  a 
crystallized  form  of  charcoal,  at  a  time  when  everything  is 
made  clear,  when  the  police  would  hale  a  new  Messiah  before 
the  magistrates,  and  submit  his  miracles  to  the  Academic  des 
Sciences — in  an  epoch  when  we  no  longer  believe  in  any- 
thing but  a  notary's  signature — that  I,  forsooth,  should 
believe  in  a  sort  of  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin!  No,  by  Heaven, 
I  will  not  believe  that  the  Supreme  Being  would  take 
pleasure  in  torturing  a  harmless  creature. — Let  us  see  the 
learned  About  it." 

Between  the  Halle  des  Vins,  with  its  extensive  assembly 
of  barrels,  and  the  Salpetriere,  that  extensive  seminary  of 


THE  AGONY  205 

drunkenness,  lies  a  small  pond,  which  Raphael  soon  reached. 
All  sorts  of  ducks  of  rare  varieties  were  there  disporting 
themselves ;  their  colored  markings  shone  in  the  sun  like  the 
glass  in  cathedral  windows.  Every  kind  of  duck  in  the 
world  was  represented,  quacking,  dabbling,  and  moving 
about — a  kind  of  parliament  of  ducks  assembled  against  its 
will,  but  luckily  without  either  charter  or  political  principles, 
living  in  complete  immunity  from  sportsmen,  under  the 
eyes  of  any  naturalist  that  chanced  to  see  them. 

"That  is  M.  Lavrille,"  said  one  of  the  keepers  to  Raphael, 
who  had  asked  for  that  high  priest  of  zoology. 

The  Marquis  saw  a  short  man  buried  in  profound  re- 
flections, caused  by  the  appearance  of  a  pair  of  ducks.  The 
man  of  science  was  middle-aged;  he  had  a  pleasant  face, 
made  pleasanter  still  by  a  kindly  expression,  but  an  absorp- 
tion in  scientific  ideas  engrossed  his  whole  person.  His 
peruke  was  strangely  turned  up,  by  being  constantly  raised 
to  scratch  his  head;  so  that  a  line  of  white  hair  was  left 
plainly  visible,  a  witness  to  an  enthusiasm  for  investiga- 
tion, which,  like  every  other  strong  passion,  so  withdraws 
us  from  mundane  considerations,  that  we  lose  all  conscious- 
ness of  the  "I"  within  us.  Raphael,  the  student  and  man 
of  science,  looked  respectfully  at  the  naturalist,  who  devoted 
his  nights  to  enlarging  the  limits  of  human  knowledge,  and 
whose  very  errors  reflected  glory  upon  France;  but  a 
she-coxcomb  would  have  laughed,  no  doubt,  at  the  break 
in  continuity  between  the  breeches  and  striped  waistcoat 
worn  by  the  man  of  learning;  the  interval,  moreover,  was 
modestly  filled  by  a  shirt  which  had  been  considerably 
creased,  for  he  stooped  and  raised  himself  by  turns,  as  his 
zoological  observations  required. 

After  the  first  interchange  of  civilities,  Raphael  thought  it 
necessary  to  pay  M.  Lavrille  a  banal  compliment  upon  his 
ducks. 

"Oh,  we  are  well  off  for  ducks/'  the  naturalist  replied. 
"The  genus,  moreover,  as  you  doubtless  know,  is  the  most 
prolific  in  the  order  of  palmipeds.       It  begins  with  the 


206  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

swan  and  ends  with  the  zin-zin  duck,  comprising  in  all  one 
hundred  and  thirty-seven  very  distinct  varieties,  each  hav- 
ing its  own  name,  habits,  country,  and  character,  and  every 
one  no  more  like  another  than  a  white  man  is  like  a  negro. 
Eeally,  sir,  when  we  dine  off  a  duck,  we  have  no  notion  for 
the  most  part  of  the  vast  extent " 

He  interrupted  himself  as  he  saw  a  small  pretty  duck 
come  up  to  the  surface  of  the  pond. 

"There  you  see  the  cravatted  swan,  a  poor  native  of 
Canada;  he  has  come  a  very  long  way  to  show  us  his  brown 
and  gray  plumage  and  his  little  black  cravat !  Look,  he  is 
preening  himself.  That  one  is  the  famous  eider  duck  that 
provides  the  down,  the  eider-down  under  which  our  fine 
ladies  sleep;  isn't  it  pretty?  Who  would  not  admire  the 
little  pinkish  white  breast  and  the  green  beak?  I  have  just 
been  a  witness,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "to  a  marriage  that  I  had 
long  despaired  of  bringing  about;  they  have  paired  rather 
auspiciously,  and  I  shall  await  the  results  very  eagerly. 
This  will  be  a  hundred  and  thirty-eighth  species,  I  flatter  my- 
self, to  which,  perhaps,  my  name  will  be  given.  That  is  the 
newly  mated  pair,"  he  said,  pointing  out  two  of  the  ducks; 
"one  of  them  is  a  laughing  goose  {anas  albifrons),  and  the 
other  the  great  whistling  duck,  Buffon's  anas  rufftna.  I 
have  hesitated  a  long  while  between  the  whistling  duck,  the 
duck  with  white  eyebrows,  and  the  shoveler  duck  {anas 
clypeata).  Stay,  that  is  the  shoveler — that  fat,  brownish 
black  rascal,  with  the  greenish  neck  and  that  coquettish 
iridescence  on  it.  But  the  whistling  duck  was  a  crested 
one,  sir,  and  you  will  understand  that  I  deliberated  no  longer. 
We  only  lack  the  variegated  black-capped  duck  now.  These 
gentlemen  here,  unanimously  claim  that  that  variety  of  duck 
is  only  a  repetition  of  the  curve-beaked  teal,  but  for  my  own 
part," — and  the  gesture  he  made  was  worth  seeing.  It  ex- 
pressed at  once  the  modesty  and  pride  of  a  man  of  science; 
the  pride  full  of  obstinacy,  and  the  modesty  well  tempered 
with  assurance. 

*T;  don't  think  it  is,"  he  added.     "You  see,  my  dear  sir, 


THE  AGONY  207 

that  we  are  not  amusing  ourselves  here.  I  am  engaged  at 
this  moment  upon  a  monograph  on  the  genus  duck.  But  I 
am  at  your  disposal." 

While  they  went  towards  a  rather  pleasant  house  in  the 
E,ue  de  Buffon,  Kaphael  submitted  the  skin  to  M.  Lavrille's 
inspection. 

"I  know  the  product/'  said  the  man  of  science,  when  he 
had  turned  his  magnifying  glass  upon  the  talisman.  "It 
used  to  be  used  for  covering  boxes.  The  shagreen  is  very 
old.  They  prefer  to  use  skate's  skin  nowadays  for  making 
sheaths.  This,  as  you  are  doubtless  aware,  is  the  hide  of  the 
raja  sepJien,  a  Eed  Sea  fish." 

"But  this,  sir,  since  you  are  so  exceedingly  good " 

"This,"  the  man  of  science  interrupted,  as  he  resumed, 
*'this  is  quite  another  thing;  between  these  two  shagreens, 
sir,  there  is  a  difference  just  as  wide  as  between  sea  and  land, 
or  fish  and  flesh.  The  fish's  skin  is  harder,  however,  than 
the  skin  of  the  land  animal.  This,"  he  said,  as  he  indicated 
the  talisman,  "is,  as  you  doubtless  know,  one  of  the  most 
curious  of  zoological  products." 

"But  to  proceed "  said  Eaphael. 

"This,"  replied  the  man  of  science,  as  he  flung  himself 
down  into  his  armchair,  "is  an  ass'  skin,  sir." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  young  man. 

"A  very  rare  variety  of  ass  is  found  in  Persia,"  the 
naturalist  continued,  "the  onager  of  the  ancients,  equus 
asinus,  the  Tcoulan  of  the  Tartars;  Pallas  went  out  there  to 
observe  it,  and  has  made  it  known  to  science,  for  as  a  matter 
of  fact  the  animal  for  a  long  time  was  believed  to  be 
mythical.  It  is  mentioned,  as  you  know,  in  Holy  Scripture ; 
Moses  forbade  that  is  should  be  coupled  with  its  own  species, 
and  the  onager  is  yet  more  famous  for  the  prostitutions  of 
which  it  was  the  object,  and  which  are  often  mentioned  by 
the  prophets  of  the  Bible,  Pallas,  as  you  know  doubtless, 
states  in  his  Act.  Petrop.  tome  II.,  that  these  bizarre  excesses 
are  still  devoutly  believed  in  among  the  Persians  and  the 
Nogais  as  a  sovereign  remedy  for  lumbago  and  sciatic  gout. 


208  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

We  poor  Parisians  scarcely  believe  that.     The  Museum  has 
no  example  of  the  onager, 

"What  a  magnificent  animal !"  he  continued.  "It  is  full 
of  mystery;  its  eyes  are  provided  with  a  sort  of  burnished 
covering,  to  which  the  Orientals  attribute  the  powers  of 
fascination;  it  has  a  glossier  and  finer  coat  than  our  hand- 
somest horses  possess,  striped  with  more  or  less  tawny  bands, 
very  much  like  the  zebra's  hide.  There  is  something  pliant 
and  silky  about  its  hair,  which  is  sleek  to  the  touch.  Its 
powers  of  sight  vie  in  precision  and  accuracy  with  those  of 
man;  it  is  rather  larger  than  our  largest  domestic  donkeys, 
and  is  possessed  of  extraordinary  courage.  If  it  is  surprised 
by  any  chance,  it  defends  itself  against  the  most  dangerous 
wild  beasts  with  remarkable  success ;  the  rapidity  of  its  move- 
ments can  only  be  compared  with  the  flight  of  birds;  an 
onager,  sir,  would  run  the  best  Arab  or  Persian  horses  to 
death.  According  to  the  father  of  the  conscientious  Doctor 
Mebuhr,  whose  recent  loss  we  are  deploring,  as  you  doubtless 
know,  the  ordinary  average  pace  of  one  of  these  wonderful 
creatures  would  be  seven  thousand  geometric  feet  per  hour. 
Our  own  degenerate  race  of  donkeys  can  give  no  idea  of  the 
ass  in  his  pride  and  independence.  He  is  active  and  spirited 
in  his  demeanor ;  he  is  cunning  and  sagacious ;  there  is  grace 
about  the  outlines  of  his  head;  every  movement  is  full  of  at- 
tractive charm.  In  the  East  he  is  the  king  of  beasts. 
Turkish  and  Persian  superstition  even  credits  him  with  a 
mysterious  origin ;  and  when  stories  of  the  prowess  attributed 
to  him  are  told  in  Thibet  or  in  Tartary,  the  speakers  mingle 
Solomon's  name  with  that  of  this  noble  animal.  A  tame 
onager,  in  short,  is  worth  an  enormous  amount;  it  is  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  catch  them  among  the  mountains,  where 
they  leap  like  roebucks,  and  seem  as  if  they  could  fly  like 
birds.  Our  myth  of  the  winged  horse,  our  Pegasus,  had  its 
origin  doubtless  in  these  countries,  where  the  shepherds  could 
see  the  onager  springing  from  one  rock  to  another.  In 
Persia  they  breed  asses  for  the  saddle,  a  cross  between  a 
tamed  onager  and  a  she-ass,  and  they  paint  them  red,  follov- 


THE  AGONY  209 

ing  immemorial  tradition.  Perhaps  it  was  this  custom  that 
gave  rise  to  our  own  proverb,  'Surely  as  a  red  donkey.'  At 
some  period  when  natural  history  was  much  neglected  in 
France,  I  think  a  traveler  must  have  brought  over  one  of 
these  strange  beasts  that  endures  servitude  with  such  im- 
patience. Hence  the  adage.  The  skin  that  you  have  laid 
before  me  is  the  skin  of  an  onager.  Opinions  differ  as  to 
the  origin  of  the  name.  Some  claim  that  Chagri  is  a 
Turkish  word;  others  insist  that  Chagri  must  be  the  name 
of  the  place  where  this  animal  product  underwent  the 
chemical  process  of  preparation  so  clearly  described  by 
Pallas,  to  which  the  peculiar  graining  that  we  admire  is 
due;  Martellens  has  written  to  me  saying  that  Chdagri  is  a 
river " 

"I  thank  5^ou,  sir,  for  the  information  that  you  have  given 
me;  it  would  furnish  an  admirable  footnote  for  some  Dom 
Calmet  or  other,  if  such  erudite  hermits  yet  exist ;  but  I  have 
had  the  honor  of  pointing  out  to  you  that  this  scrap  was  in 
the  first  instance  quite  as  large  as  that  map,"  said  Raphael, 
indicating  an  open  atlas  to  Lavrille;  "but  it  has  shrunk 
visibly  in  three  months'  time " 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  man  of  science.  "I  understand. 
The  remains  of  any  substance  primarily  organic  are 
naturally  subject  to  a  process  of  decay.  It  is  quite  easy  to 
understand,  and  its  progress  depends  upon  atmospherical 
conditions.  Even  metals  contract  and  expand  appreciably, 
for  engineers  have  remarked  somewhat  considerable  inter- 
stices between  great  blocks  of  stone  originally  clamped  to- 
gether with  iron  bars.  The  field  of  science  is  boundless,  but 
human  life  is  very  short,  so  that  we  do  not  claim  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  phenomena  of  nature." 

"Pardon  the  question  that  I  am  about  to  ask  you,  sir," 
Raphael  began,  half  embarrassed,  "but  are  you  quite  sure  that 
this  piece  of  skin  is  subject  to  the  ordinary  laws  of  zoology, 
and  that  is  can  be  stretched?" 

"Certainly oh,    bother! "    muttered    M.    Lavrille, 

trying  to  stretch  the  talisman,     "But  if  you,  sir,  will  go  to 

14 


210  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

see  Plancliette,"  he  added,  "the  celebrated  professor  of 
mechanics,  he  will  certainly  discover  some  method  of  acting 
upon  this  skin,  of  softening  and  expanding  it." 

"Ah,  sir,  you  are  the  preserver  of  my  life,"  and  Raphael 
took  leave  of  the  learned  naturalist  and  hurried  off  to 
Planchette,  leaving  the  worthy  Lavrille  in  his  study,  all 
among  the  bottles  and  dried  plants  that  filled  it  up. 

Quite  unconsciously  Eaphael  brought  away  with  him  from 
this  visit,  all  of  science  that  man  can  grasp,  a  terminology 
to  wit.  Lavrille,  the  worthy  man,  was  very  much  like 
Sancho  Panza  giving  to  Don  Quixote  the  history  of  the 
goats;  he  was  entertaining  himself  by  making  out  a  list  of 
animals  and  ticking  them  off.  Even  now  that  his  life  was 
nearing  its  end,  he  was  scarcely  acquainted  with  a  mere  frac- 
tion of  the  countless  numbers  of  the  great  tribes  that  God  has 
scattered,  for  some  unknown  end,  throughout  the  ocean  of 
worlds. 

Eaphael  was  well  pleased.  "I  shall  keep  my  ass  well  in 
hand,"  cried  he.  Sterne  had  said  before  his  day,  "Let  us 
take  care  of  our  ass,  if  we  wish  to  live  to  old  age."  But  it 
is  such  a  fantastic  brute ! 

Planchette  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  a  poet  of  a  surety,  lost  in 
one  continual  thought,  and  always  employed  in  gazing  into 
the  bottomless  abyss  of  Motion.  Commonplace  minds  accuse 
these  lofty  intellects  of  madness ;  they  form  a  misinterpreted 
race  apart  that  lives  in  a  wonderful  carelessness  of  luxuries 
or  other  people's  notions.  They  will  spend  whole  days  at  a 
stretch,  smoking  a  cigar  that  has  gone  out,  and  enter  a 
drawing-room  with  the  buttons  on  their  garments  not  in 
every  case  formally  wedded  to  the  button-holes.  Some  day 
or  other,  after  a  long  time  spent  in  measuring  space,  or  in 
accumulating  Xs  under  Aa-Gg,  they  succeed  in  analyzing 
some  natural  law,  and  resolve  it  into  its  elemental  principles, 
and  all  on  a  sudden  the  crowd  gapes  at  a  new  machine;  or 
it  is  a  handcart  perhaps  that  overwhelms  us  with  astonish- 
ment by  the  apt  simplicity  of  its  construction.  The  modest 
man  of  science  smiles  at  his  admirers,  and  remarks,  "What 


THE  AGONY  211 

is  that  invention  of  mine?  Nothing  whatever.  Man  can- 
not create  a  force;  he  can  but  direct  it;  and  science  consists 
in  learning  from  nature." 

The  mechanician  was  standing  bolt  upright,  planted  on 
both  feet,  like  some  victim  dropped  straight  from  the  gibbet, 
when  Eaphael  broke  in  upon  him.  He  was  intently 
watching  an  agate  ball  that  rolled  over  a  sun-dial,  and 
awaited  its  final  settlement.  The  worthy  man  had  re- 
ceived neither  pension  nor  decoration;  he  had  not  known 
how  to  make  the  right  use  of  liis  ability  for  calculation.  He 
was  happy  in  his  life  spent  on  the  watch  for  a  discovery ;  he 
had  no  thought  either  of  reputation,  of  the  outer  world, 
nor  even  of  himself,  and  led  the  life  of  science  for  the  sake  of 
science. 

"It  is  inexplicable,"  he  exclaimed.  "Ah,  your  servant, 
sir,"  he  went  on,  becoming  aware  of  Eaphael's  existence. 
"How  is  your  mother?     You  must  go  and  see  my  wife." 

"And  I  also  could  have  lived  thus,"  thought  Eaphael,  as  he 
recalled  the  learned  man  from  his  meditations  by  asking 
of  him  how  to  produce  any  effect  on  the  talisman,  which  he 
placed  before  him. 

"Although  my  credulity  must  amuse  you,  sir,"  so  the  Mar- 
quis ended,  "I  will  conceal  nothing  from  you.  That  skin 
seems  to  me  to  be  endowed  with  an  insuperable  power  of 
resistance." 

"People  of  fashion,  sir,  always  treat  science  rather 
superciliously,"  said  Planchette.  "They  all  talk  to  us  pretty 
much  as  the  incroyahle  did  when  he  brought  some  ladies  to 
see  Lalande  just  after  an  eclipse,  and  remarked,  *Be  so  good 
as  to  begin  it  over  again !'  AVhat  effect  do  you  want  to  pro- 
duce? The  object  of  the  science  of  mechanics  is  either  the 
application  or  the  neutralization  of  the  laws  of  motion.  As 
for  motion  pure  and  simple,  I  tell  you  humbly,  that  we  can- 
not possibly  define  it.  That  disposed  of,  unvarying 
phenomena  have  been  observed  which  accompany  the  actions 
of  solids  and  fluids.  If  we  set  up  the  conditions  by  which 
these  phenomena  are  brought  to  pass,  we  can  transport  bodies 


212  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

or  comirmnicate  locomotive  power  to  them  at  a  predeter- 
mined rate  of  speed.  We  can  project  them,  divide  them 
up  in  a  few  or  an  infinite  number  of  pieces,  accordingly  as 
we  break  them  or  grind  them  to  powder;  we  can  twist  bodies 
or  make  them  rotate,  modify,  compress,  expand,  or  extend 
them.     The  whole  science,  sir,  rests  upon  a  single  fact. 

"You  see  this  ball,"  he  went  on;  "here  it  lies  upon  this 
slab.  Now,  it  is  over  there.  What  name  shall  we  give  to 
what  has  taken  place,  so  natural  from  a  physical  point  of 
view,  so  amazing  from  a  moral?  Movement,  locomotion, 
changing  of  place?  What  prodigious  vanity  lurks  under- 
neath the  words.  Does  a  name  solve  the  difficulty?  Yet  it 
is  the  whole  of  our  science  for  all  that.  Our  machines  either 
make  direct  use  of  this  agency,  this  fact,  or  they  convert  it. 
This  trifling  phenomenon,  applied  to  large  masses,  would 
send  Paris  flying.  We  can  increase  speed  by  an  expenditure 
of  force,  and  augment  the  force  by  an  increase  of  speed. 
But  what  are  speed  and  force?  Our  science  is  as  powerless 
to  tell  us  that  as  to  create  motion.  Any  movement  what- 
ever is  an  immense  power,  and  man  does  not  create  power 
of  any  kind.  Everything  is  movement,  thought  itself  is  a 
movement,  upon  movement  nature  is  based.  Death  is  a 
movement  whose  limitations  are  little  known.  If  God  is 
eternal,  be  sure  that  He  moves  perpetually;  perhaps  God  is 
movement.  That  is  why  movement,  like  God,  is  inexplic- 
able, unfathomable,  unlimited,  incomprehensible,  intangible. 
Who  has  ever  touched,  comprehended,  or  measured  move-i 
ment?  We  feel  its  effects  without  seeing  it;  we  can  even 
deny  them  as  we  can  deny  the  existence  of  a  God. 
Where  is  it?  Where  is  it  not?  Whence  comes  it? 
What  is  its  source?  What  is  its  end?  It  surrounds 
us,  it  intrudes  upon  us,  and  yet  escapes  us.  It  is 
evident  as  a  fact,  obscure  as  an  abstraction;  it  is  at 
once  effect  and  cause.  It  requires  space,  even  as  we,  and 
what  is  space?  Movement  alone  recalls  it  to  us;  without 
movement,  space  is  but  an  empty  meaningless  word.  Like 
space,  like  creation,  like  the  infinite,  movement  is  an  ii>- 


THE  AGONY  21S 

soluble  problem  which  confounds  human  reason;  man  will 
never  conceive  it,  whatever  else  he  may  be  permitted  to  con- 
ceive. 

"Between  each  point  in  space  occupied  in  succession  b/ 
that  ball/'  continued  the  man  of  science,  "there  is  an  abyss 
confronting  human  reason,  an  abyss  into  which  Pascal  fell. 
In  order  to  produce  any  effect  upon  an  unknown  substance, 
we  ought  first  of  all  to  study  that  substance;  to  know 
whether,  in  accordance  with  its  nature,  it  Mali  be  broken  by 
the  force  of  a  blow,  or  whether  it  will  withstand  it;  if  it 
breaks  in  pieces,  and  you  have  no  wish  to  split  it  up,  we  shall 
not  achieve  the  end  proposed.  If  you  want  to  compress  it,  a 
uniform  impulse  must  be  communicated  to  all  the  particles 
of  the  substance,  so  as  to  diminish  the  interval  that  separates 
them  in  an  equal  degree.  If  you  wish  to  expand  it,  we 
should  try  to  bring  a  uniform  eccentric  force  to  bear  on 
every  molecule;  for  unless  we  conform  accurately  to  this 
law,  we  shall  have  breaches  in  continuity.  The  modes  of 
motion,  sir,  are  infinite,  and  no  limit  exists  to  combinations 
of  movement.      Upon  what  effect  have  you  determined  ?" 

"I  want  any  kind  of  pressure  that  is  strong  enough  to 
expand  the  skin  indefinitely,"  began  Kaphael,  quite  out  of 
patience. 

"Substance  is  finite,"  the  mathematician  put  in,  "and 
therefore  will  not  admit  of  indefinite  expansion,  but 
pressure  will  necessarily  increase  the  extent  of  surface  at  the 
expense  of  the  thickness,  which  will  be  diminished  until  the 
point  is  reached  when  the  material  gives  out " 

"Bring  about  that  result,  sir,"  Eaphael  cried,  "and  you 
will  have  earned  millions." 

"Then  I  should  rob  you  of  your  money,"  replied  the  other, 
phlegmatic  as  a  Dutchman.  "I  am  going  to  show  you,  in  a 
word  or  two,  that  a  machine  can  be  made  that  is  fit  to  crush 
Providence  itself  in  pieces  like  a  fly.  It  would  reduce  a 
man  to  the  conditions  of  a  piece  of  waste  paper;  a  man — 
boots  and  spurs,  hat  and  cravat,  trinkets  and  gold,  and 
all " 


214  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

''What  a  fearful  machine!" 

"Instead  of  flinging  their  brats  into  the  water,  the  Chinese 
ought  to  make  them  useful  in  this  way,"  the  man  of  science 
went  on,  without  reflecting  on  the  regard  man  has  for  his 
progeny. 

Quite  absorbed  by  his  idea,  Planehette  took  an  empty 
flower-pot,  with  a  hole  in  the  bottom,  and  put  it  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  dial,  then  he  went  to  look  for  a  little  clay  in  a 
corner  of  the  garden.  Eaphael  stood  spellbound,  like  a  child 
to  whom  his  nurse  is  telling  some  wonderful  story. 
Planehette  put  the  clay  down  upon  the  slab,  drew  a  pruning- 
knife  from  his  pocket,  cut  two  branches  from  an  elder  tree, 
and  began  to  clear  them  of  pith  by  blowing  through  them, 
as  if  Eaphael  had  not  been  present. 

"There  are  the  rudiments  of  the  apparatus,"  he  said. 
Then  he  connected  one  of  the  wooden  pipes  with  the  bottom, 
of  the  flower-pot  by  a  clay  joint,  in  such  a  way  that  the 
mouth  of  the  elder  stem  was  just  under  the  hole  of  the 
flower-pot;  you  might  have  compared  it  to  a  big  tobacco- 
pipe.  He  spread  a  bed  of  clay  over  the  surface  of  the  slab, 
in  a  shovel-shaped  mass,  set  down  the  flower-pot  at  the 
wider  end  of  it,  and  laid  the  pipe  of  the  elder  stem  along 
the  portion  which  represented  the  handle  of  the  shovel. 
Next  he  put  a  lump  of  clay  at  the  end  of  the  elder  stem 
and  therein  planted  the  other  pipe,  in  an  upright  position, 
forming  a  second  elbow  which  connected  it  with  the  first 
horizontal  pipe  in  such  a  manner  that  the  air,  or  any  given 
fluid  in  circulation,  could  flow  through  this  improvised  piece 
of  mechanism  from  the  mouth  of  the  vertical  tube,  along  the 
intermediate  passages,  and  so  into  the  large  empty  flower- 
pot. 

"This  apparatus,  sir,"  he  said  to  Raphael,  with  all  the 
gravity  of  an  academician  pronouncing  his  initiatory  dis- 
course, "is  one  of  the  great  Pascal's  grandest  claims  upon 
our  admiration.." 

"I  don't  understand." 

The  man  of  science  smiled.     He  went  up  to  a  fruit-tree 


THE  AGONY  *?15 

and  took  down  a  little  phial  in  which  the  druggist  had  sent 
him  some  liquid  for  catching  ants;  he  broke  off  the  bottom 
and  made  a  funnel  of  the  top,  carefully  fitting  it  to  the 
mouth  of  the  vertical  hollowed  stem  that  he  had  set  in  the 
clay,  and  at  the  opposite  end  to  the  great  reservoir,  repre- 
sented by  the  flower-pot.  Next,  by  means  of  a  watering- 
pot,  he  poured  in  sufficient  water  to  rise  to  the  same  level  in 
the  large  vessel  and  in  the  tiny  circular  funnel  at  the  end 
of  the  elder  stem. 

Eaphael  was  thinking  of  his  piece  of  skin. 

"Water  is  considered  to-day,  sir,  to  be  an  incompressible 
body,"  said  the  mechanician;  "never  lose  sight  of  that 
fundamental  principle;  still  it  can  be  compressed,  though 
only  so  very  slightly  that  we  should  regard  its  faculty  for 
contracting  as  a  zero.  You  see  the  amount  of  surface  pre- 
sented by  the  water  at  the  brim  of  the  flower-pot  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  good;  now  suppose  that  that  surface  is  a  thousand 
times  larger  than  the  orifice  of  the  elder  stem  through 
which  I  poured  the  liquid.  Here,  I  am  taking  the  funnel 
away " 

"Granted." 

"W^ell,  then,  if  by  any  method  whatever  I  increase  the 
volume  of  that  quantity  of  water  by  pouring  in  yet  more 
through  the  mouth  of  the  little  tube;  the  water  thus  com- 
pelled to  flow  downwards  would  rise  in  the  reservoir,  repre- 
sented by  the  flower-pot,  until  it  reached  the  same  level  at 
either  end." 

"That  is  quite  clear,"  cried  Raphael. 

"But  there  is  this  difference,"  the  other  went  on.  "Sup- 
pose that  the  thin  column  of  water  poured  into  the  little 
vertical  tube  there  exerts  a  force  equal,  say,  to  a  pound 
weight,  for  instance,  its  action  will  be  punctually  communi- 
cated to  the  great  body  of  the  liquid,  and  will  be  trans- 
mitted to  every  part  of  the  surface  represented  by  the  water 
in  the  flower-pot  so  that  at  the  surface  there  will  be  a 
thousand  columns  of  water,  every  one  pressing  upwards  as 


216  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

if  they  were  impelled  by  a  force  equal  to  that  which  compels 
the  liquid  to  descend  in  the  vertical  tube;  and  of  necessity 
they  reproduce  here,"  said  Planchette,  indicating  to 
Eaphael  the  top  of  the  flower-pot,  "the  force  introduced 
over  there,  a  thousand-fold,"  and  the  man  of  science 
pointed  out  to  the  marquis  the  upright  wooden  pipe  set  in 
the  clay. 

"That  is  quite  simple,"  said  Eaphael. 

Planchette  smiled  again. 

"In  other  words,"  he  went  on,  with  the  mathematician's 
natural  stubborn  propensity  for  logic,  "in  order  to  resist  the 
force  of  the  incoming  water,  it  would  be  necessary  to  exert, 
upon  every  part  of  the  large  surface,  a  force  equal  to  that, 
brought  into  action  in  the  vertical  column,  but  with  this 
difference — if  the  column  of  liquid  is  a  foot  in  height,  the 
thousand  little  columns  of  the  wide  surface  will  only  have  a 
very  slight  elevating  power. 

"Now,"  said  Planchette,  as  he  gave  a  fillip  to  his  bits  of 
stick,  "let  us  replace  this  funny  little  apparatus  by  steel 
tubes  of  suitable  strength  and  dimensions;  and  if  you  cover 
the  liquid  surface  of  the  reservoir  with  a  strong  sliding  plate 
of  metal,  and  if  to  this  metal  plate  you  oppose  another,  solid 
enough  and  strong  enough  to  resist  any  test;  if,  further- 
more, you  give  me  the  power  of  continually  adding  water  to 
the  volume  of  liquid  contents  by  means  of  the  little  vertical 
tube,  the  object  fixed  between  the  two  solid  metal  plates 
must  of  necessity  yield  to  the  tremendous  crushing  force 
which  indefinitely  compresses  it.  The  method  of  continually 
pouring  in  water  through  a  little  tube,  like  the  manner  of 
communicating  force  through  the  volume  of  the  liquid  to 
a  small  metal  plate,  is  an  absurdly  primitive  mechanical 
device.  A  brace  of  pistons  and  a  few  valves  would  do  it  all. 
Do  you  perceive,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  taking  Valentin 
by  the  arm,  "there  is  scarcely  a  substance  in  existence  that 
would  not  be  compelled  to  dilate  when  fixed  in  between  these 
two  indefinitely  resisting  surfaces?" 

"What !  the  author  of  the  Lettres  provinciales  invented 
it?"  Eaphael  exclaimed. 


THE  AGONY  217 

"He  and  no  other,  sir.  The  science  of  mechanics  knows 
no  simpler  nor  more  beautiful  contrivance.  The  opposite 
principle,  the  capacity  of  expansion  possessed  by  water,  has 
brought  the  steam-engine  into  being.  But  water  will  only 
expand  up  to  a  certain  point,  while  its  incompressibility, 
being  a  force  in  a  manner  negative,  is,  of  necessity, 
infinite." 

"If  this  skin  is  expanded,"  said  Eaphael,  "I  promise  you 
to  erect  a  colossal  statue  to  Blaise  Pascal;  to  found  a  prize 
of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  be  offered  every  ten  years 
for  the  solution  of  the  grandest  problem  of  mechanical 
science  effected  during  the  interval;  to  find  dowries  for  all 
your  cousins  and  second  cousins,  and  finally  to  build  an 
asylum  on  purpose  for  impoverished  or  insane  mathe- 
maticians." 

"That  would  be  exceedingly  useful,"  Planchette  replied. 
'^e  will  go  to  Spieghalter  to-morrow,  sir,"  he  continued, 
with  the  serenity  of  a  man  living  on  a  plane  wholly  intel- 
lectual. "That  distinguished  mechanic  has  just  completed, 
after  my  own  designs,  an  improved  mechanical  arrangement 
by  which  a  child  could  get  a  thousand  trusses  of  hay  inside 
his  cap." 

"Then  good-bye  till  to-morrow." 

"Till  to-morrow,  sir." 

"Talk  of  mechanics !"  cried  Raphael ;  "isn't  it  the  great- 
est of  the  sciences?  The  other  fellow  Avith  his  onagers, 
classifications,  ducks,  and  species,  and  his  phials  full  of 
bottled  monstrosities,  is  at  best  only  fit  for  a  billiard-marker 
in  a  saloon." 

The  next  morning  Raphael  went  off  in  great  spirits  to  find 
Planchette,  and  together  they  set  out  for  the  Rue  de  la 
Sante — auspicious  appellation!  Arrived  at  Spieghalter^s, 
the  young  man  found  himself  in  a  vast  foundry;  his  eyes 
lighted  upon  a  multitude  of  glowing  and  roaring  furnaces. 
There  was  a  storm  of  sparks,  a  deluge  of  nails,  an  ocean  of 
pistons,  vises,  levers,  valves,  girders,  files,  and  nuts;  a  sea 
of  melted  metal,  baulks  of  timber  and  bar-steel.    Iron  filings 


218  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

filled  your  throat.  There  was  iron  in  the  atmosphere;  the 
men  were  covered  with  it;  everything  reeked  of  iron.  The 
iron  seemed  to  be  a  living  organism;  it  became  a  fluid, 
moved,  and  seemed  to  shape  itself  intelligently  after  every 
fashion,  to  obey  the  worker's  every  caprice.  Through  the  up- 
roar made  by  the  bellows,  the  crescendo  of  the  falling  ham- 
mers, and  the  shrill  sounds  of  the  lathes  that  drew  groans  from 
the  steel,  Eaphael  passed  into  a  large,  clean,  and  airy  place 
where  he  was  able  to  inspect  at  his  leisure  the  great  press 
that  Planchette  had  told  him  about.  He  admired  the  east- 
iron  beams,  as  one  might  call  them,  and  the  twin  bars  of 
steel  coupled  together  with  indestructible  bolts. 

"If  you  were  to  give  seven  rapid  turns  to  that  crank," 
said  Spieghalter,  pointing  out  a  beam  of  polished  steel,  "you 
would  make  a  steel  bar  spurt  out  in  thousands  of  jets,  that 
would  get  into  your  legs  like  needles." 
"The  deuce !"  exclaimed  Raphael. 

Planchette  himself  slipped  the  piece  of  skin  between  the 
metal  plates  of  the  all-powerful  press;  and,  brimful  of  the 
certainty  of  a  scientific  conviction,  he  worked  the  crank 
energetically. 

"Lie  flat,  all  of  you ;  we  are  dead  men !"  thundered  Spieg- 
halter, as  he  himself  fell  prone  on  the  floor. 

A  hideous  shrieking  sound  rang  through  the  workshops. 
The  water  in  the  machine  had  broken  the  chamber,  and  now 
spouted  out  in  a  jet  of  incalculable  force;  luckily  it  went 
in  the  direction  of  an  old  furnace,  which  was  overthrown, 
knocked  to  pieces,  and  twisted  like  a  house  that  has  been 
enveloped  and  carried  away  by  a  waterspout. 

"Ha!"  remarked  Planchette  serenel}^,  "the  piece  of  skin 
is  as  safe  and  sound  as  my  eye.     There  was  a  flaw  in  your 

reservoir  somewhere,  or  a  crevice  in  the  large  tube " 

"No,  no ;  I  know  my  reservoir.  The  devil  is  in  your  con- 
trivance, sir ;  you  can  take  it  away,"  and  the  German  pounced 
upon  a  smith's  hammer,  flung  the  skin  down  on  an  anvil, 
and,  with  all  the  strength  that  rage  gives,  dealt  the  talisman 
the  most  formidable  blow  that  had  ever  resounded  through 
his  workshops. 


THE  AGONY  2J9 


€<n 


'There  is  not  so  much  as  a  mark  on  it!"  said  Planchette, 
Btroking  the  perverse  bit  of  skin. 

The  workmen  hurried  in.  The  foreman  took  the  skin  and 
buried  it  in  the  glowing  coal  of  a  forge,  while,  in  a  semi- 
circle round  the  fire,  they  all  awaited  the  action  of  a  huge 
pair  of  bellows.  Raphael,  Spieghalter,  and  Professor 
Planchette  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  grimy  expectant  crowd. 
Raphael,  looking  round  on  faces  dusted  over  with  iron 
filings,  white  eyes,  greasy  blackened  clothing,  and  hairy/ 
chests,  could  have  fancied  himself  transported  into  the  wild 
nocturnal  world  of  German  ballad  poetry.  After  the  skin 
had  been  in  the  fire  for  ten  minutes,  the  foreman  pulled  it 
out  with  a  pair  of  pincers. 

"Hand  it  over  to  me,"  said  Eaphael. 

The  foreman  held  it  out  by  way  of  a  joke.  The  Marquis 
readily  handled  it;  it  was  cool  and  flexible  between  his 
fingers.  An  exclamation  of  alarm  went  up;  the  workmen 
fled  in  terror.  Valentin  was  left  alone  with  Planchette  in 
the  empty  workshop. 

"There  is  certainly  something  infernal  in  the  thing !"  cried 
Raphael,  in  desperation.  "Is  no  human  power  able  to  give 
me  one  day  more  of  existence  ?" 

"I  made  a  mistake,  sir,"  said  the  mathematician,  with  a 
penitent  expression;  "we  ought  to  have  subjected  that  pe- 
culiar skin  to  the  action  of  a  rolling  machine.  Where  could 
my  eyes  have  been  when  I  suggested  compression !" 

"It  was  I  that  asked  for  it,"  Raphael  answered. 

The  mathematician  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  like  a  culprit 
acquitted  by  a  dozen  jurors.  Still,  the  strange  problem 
afforded  by  the  skin  interested  him ;  he  meditated  a  moment, 
and  then  remarked : 

"This  unknown  material  ought  to  be  treated  chemically  by 
re-agents.  Let  us  call  on  Japhet — perhaps  the  chemist  may 
have  better  luck  than  the  mechanic." 

Valentin  urged  his  horse  into  a  rapid  trot,  hoping  to  find 
the  chemist,  the  celebrated  Japhet,  in  his  laboratory. 

"Well,  old  friend,"  Planchette  began,  seeing  Japhet  in  his 
armchair,  examining  a  precipitate;  "how  goes  chemistry?*' 


220  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"Gone  to  sleep.  Nothing  new  at  all.  The  Academie,  how- 
ever, has  recognized  the  existence  of  salicine,  but  salicine, 
asparagine,  vauqueline,  and  digitaline  are  not  really  discov- 
eries  " 

"Since  you  cannot  invent  substances,"  said  Eaphael,  "you 
are  obliged  to  fall  back  on  inventing  names." 

"Most  emphatically  true,  young  man." 

"Here,"  said  Planchette,  addressing  the  chemist,  "try  to 
analyze  this  composition;  if  you  can  extract  any  element 
whatever  from  it,  I  christen  it  diaboline  beforehand,  for  we 
have  just  smashed  a  hydraulic  press  in  trying  to  compress  it." 

'Tiet's  see !  let^s  have  a  look  at  it !"  cried  the  delighted 
chemist ;  "it  may,  perhaps,  be  a  fresh  element." 

"It  is  simply  a  piece  of  the  skin  of  an  ass,  sir,"  said 
Eaphael. 

"Sir !"  said  the  illustrious  chemist  sternly. 

"I  am  not  joking,"  the  Marquis  answered,  laying  the  piece 
of  skin  before  him. 

Baron  Japhet  applied  the  nervous  fibres  of  his  tongue  to 
the  skin;  he  had  skill  in  thus  detecting  salts,  acids,  alkalis, 
and  gases.    After  several  experiments,  he  remarked : 

"No  taste  whatever !  Come,  we  will  give  it  a  little  fluoric 
acid  to  drink." 

Subjected  to  the  influence  of  this  ready  solvent  of  animal 
tissue,  the  skin  underwent  no  change  whatsoever. 

"It  is  not  shagreen  at  all !"  the  chemist  cried.  "We  will 
treat  this  unknown  mystery  as  a  mineral,  and  try  its  mettle 
by  dropping  it  in  a  crucible  where  I  have  at  this  moment 
some  red  potash." 

Japhet  went  out,  and  returned  almost  immediately. 

"Allow  me  to  cut  away  a  bit  of  this  strange  substance,  sir," 
he  said  to  Eaphael ;  "it  is  so  extraordinary " 

"A  bit !"  exclaimed  Eaphael ;  "not  so  much  as  a  hair's- 
breadth.  You  may  try,  though,"  he  added,  half  bantering^y, 
half  sadly. 

The  chemist  broke  a  razor  in  his  desire  to  cut  the  skin; 


THE  AGONY  221 

he  tried  to  break  it  by  a  powerful  electric  shock ;  next  he  sub- 
mitted it  to  the  influence  of  a  galvanic  battery;  but  all  the 
thunderbolts  his  science  wotted  of  fell  harmless  on  the  dread- 
ful talisman. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Planchette,  Japhet, 
and  Eaphael,  unaware  of  the  flight  of  time,  were  awaiting  the 
outcome  of  a  final  experiment.  The  Magic  Skin  emerged 
triumphant  from  a  formidable  encounter  in  which  it  had 
been  engaged  with  a  considerable  quantity  of  cliloride  of 
nitrogen. 

"It  is  all  over  with  me,"  Eaphael  wailed.  "It  is  the  finger 
of  God !  I  shall  die ! "  and  he  left  the  two  amazed  sci- 
entific men. 

"We  must  be  very  careful  not  to  talk  about  this  affair  at 
the  Academic;  our  colleagues  there  would  laugh  at  us," 
Planchette  remarked  to  the  chemist,  after  a  long  pause,  in 
which  they  looked  at  each  other  without  daring  to  communi- 
cate their  thoughts.  The  learned  pair  looked  like  two  Chris- 
tians who  had  issued  from  their  tombs  to  find  no  God  in  the 
heavens.  Science  had  been  powerless;  acids,  so  much  clear 
water;  red  potash  had  been  discredited;  the  galvanic  battery 
and  electric  shock  had  been  a  couple  of  playthings. 

"A  hydraulic  press  broken  like  a  biscuit!"  commented 
Planchette. 

"I  believe  in  the  devil,"  said  the  Baron  Japhet,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence. 

"And  I  in  God,"  replied  Planchette. 

Each  spoke  in  character.  The  universe  for  a  mechanician^ 
is  a  machine  that  requires  an  operator;  for  chemistry — that 
fiendish  employment  of  decomposing  all  things — the  world 
is  a  gas  endowed  with  the  power  of  movement. 

'^e  cannot  deny  the  fact,"  the  chemist  replied. 

"Pshaw !  those  gentlemen  the  doctrinaires  have  invented 
a  nebulous  aphorism  for  our  consolation — Stupid  as  a  fact." 

"Your  aphorism,"  said  the  chemist,  "seems  to  me  as  a  fact 
very  stupid." 


222  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

They  began  to  laugh,  and  went  off  to  dine  like  folk  for 
whom  a  miracle  is  nothing  more  than  a  phenomenon. 

Valentin  reached  his  own  house  shivering  with  rage  and 
consumed  with  anger.  He  had  no  more  faith  in  anything. 
Conflicting  thoughts  shifted  and  surged  to  and  fro  in  his 
brain,  as  is  the  case  with  every  man  brought  face  to  face  with 
an  inconceivable  fact.  He  had  readily  believed  in  some  hid- 
den flaw  in  Spieghalter's  apparatus;  he  had  not  been  sur- 
prised by  the  incompetence  and  failure  of  science  and  of  fire; 
but  the  flexibility  of  the  skin  as  he  handled  it,  taken  with  its 
stubbornness  when  all  the  means  of  destruction  that  man 
possesses  had  been  brought  to  bear  upon  it  in  vain — these 
things  terrified  him.  The  incontrovertible  fact  made  him 
dizzy. 

"I  am  mad,"  he  muttered.  "I  have  had  no  food  since  the 
morning,  and  yet  I  am  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty,  and  there 
is  a  fire  in  my  breast  that  burns  me." 

He  put  back  the  skin  in  the  frame  where  it  had  been  en- 
closed but  lately,  drew  a  line  in  red  ink  about  the  actual  con- 
figuration of  the  talisman,  and  seated  himself  in  his  arm- 
chair. 

"Eight  o'clock  already !"  he  exclaimed.  "To-day  has  gone 
like  a  dream." 

He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  propped  his 
head  with  his  left  hand,  and  so  remained,  lost  in  secret  dark 
reflections  and  consuming  thoughts  that  men  condemned  to 
die  bear  away  with  them. 

"0  Pauline !"  he  cried.  "Poor  child !  there  are  gulfs  that 
love  can  never  traverse,  despite  the  strength  of  his  wings." 

Just  then  he  very  distinctly  heard  a  smothered  sigh,  and 
knew  by  one  of  the  most  tender  privileges  of  passionate  love 
that  it  was  Pauline's  breathing. 

"That  is  my  death  warrant,"  he  said  to  himself.  "If  she 
were  there,  I  should  wish  to  die  in  her  arms." 

A  burst  of  gleeful  and  hearty  laughter  made  him  turn  his 
face  towards  the  bed ;  he  saw  Pauline's  face  through  the 
transparent  curtains,  smiling  like  a  child  for  gladness  over 


THE  AGONY  223 

a  successful  piece  of  mischief.  Her  pretty  hair  fell  over  her 
shoulders  in  countless  curls;  she  looked  like  a  Bengal  rose 
upon  a  pile  of  white  roses. 

"I  cajoled  Jonathan/'  said  she.  "Doesn't  the  hed  belong 
to  me,  to  me  who  am  your  wife?  Don't  scold  me,  darling; 
I  only  wanted  to  surprise  you,  to  sleep  beside  you.  Forgive 
me  for  my  freak." 

She  sprang  out  of  bed  like  a  kitten,  showed  herself  gleam- 
ing in  her  lawn  raiment,  and  sat  down  on  Raphael's  knee. 

"Love,  what  gulf  were  you  talking  about?"  she  said,  with 
an'  anxious  expression  apparent  upon  her  face. 

"Death." 

"You  hurt  me,"  she  answered.  "There  are  some  thoughts 
upon  which  we,  poor  women  that  we  are,  cannot  dwell;  they 
are  death  to  us.  Is  it  strength  of  love  in  us,  or  lack  of  cour- 
age ?  I  cannot  tell.  Death  does  not  frighten  me,"  she  began 
again,  laughingly.  "To  die  with  you,  both  together,  to-mor- 
row morning,  in  one  last  embrace,  would  be  joy.  It  seems  to 
me  that  even  then  I  should  have  lived  more  than  a  hundred 
years.  What  does  the  number  of  days  matter  if  we  have 
spent  a  whole  lifetime  of  peace  and  love  in  one  night,  in  one 
hour?" 

"You  are  right;  Heaven  is  speaking  through  that  pretty 
mouth  of  yours.  Grant  that  I  may  kiss  you,  and  let  us  die," 
said  Raphael. 

"Then  let  us  die,"  she  said,  laughing. 

Towards  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  daylight  streamed 
through  the  chinks  of  the  window  shutters.  Obscured  some- 
what by  the  muslin  curtains,  it  yet  sufficed  to  show  clearly 
the  rich  colors  of  the  carpet,  the  silks  and  furniture  of  the 
room,  where  the  two  lovers  were  lying  asleep.  The  gilding 
sparkled  here  and  there.  A  ray  of  sunlight  fell  and  faded 
upon  the  soft  down  quilt  that  the  freaks  of  love  had  thrown 
to  the  ground.  The  outlines  of  Pauline's  dress,  hanging  from 
a  cheval  glass,  appeared  like  a  shadowy  ghost.  Her  dainty 
shoes  had  been  left  at  a  distance  from  the  bed.  A  nightingale 
came  to  perch  upon  the  sill ;  its  trills  repeated  over  again,  and 


224  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

the  sounds  of  its  wings  suddenly  shaken  out  for  flight,  awoke 
Raphael. 

"For  me  to  die/'  he  said,  following  out  a  thought  begun  in 
his  dream,  "my  organization,  the  mechanism  of  flesh  and  bone, 
that  is  quickened  by  the  will  in  me,  and  makes  of  me  an  indi- 
vidual man,  must  display  some  perceptible  disease.  Doctors 
ought  to  understand  the  symptoms  of  any  attack  on  vitality, 
and  could  tell  me  whether  I  am  sick  or  sound.'* 

He  gazed  at  his  sleeping  wife.  She  had  stretched  her  head 
out  to  him,  expressing  in  this  way  even  while  she  slept  the 
anxious  tenderness  of  love.  Pauline  seemed  to  look  at  him 
as  she  lay  with  her  face  turned  towards  him  in  an  attitude  as 
full  of  grace  as  a  young  child's,  with  her  pretty,  half-opened 
mouth  held  out  towards  him,  as  she  drew  her  light,  even 
breath.  Her  little  pearly  teeth  seemed  to  heighten  the  redness 
of  the  fresh  lips  with  the  smile  hovering  over  them.  The  red 
glow  in  her  complexion  was  brighter,  and  its  whiteness  was, 
so  to  speak,  whiter  still  just  then  than  in  the  most  impassioned 
moments  of  the  waking  day.  In  her  unconstrained  grace,  as 
she  lay,  so  full  of  believing  trust,  the  adorable  attractions  of 
childhood  were  added  to  the  enchantments  of  love. 

Even  the  most  unaffected  women  still  obey  certain  social 
conventions,  which  restrain  the  free  expansion  of  the  soul 
within  them  during  their  waking  hours;  but  slumber  seems 
to  give  them  back  the  spontaneity  of  life  which  makes  infancy 
lovely.  Pauline  blushed  for  nothing ;  she  was  like  one  of  those 
beloved  and  heavenly  beings,  in  whom  reason  has  not  yet  put 
motives  into  their  actions  and  mystery  into  their  glances.  Her 
profile  stood  out  in  sharp  relief  against  the  fine  cambric  of  the 
pillows ;  there  was  a  certain  sprightliness  about  her  loose  hair 
in  confusion,  mingled  with  the  deep  lace  ruffles;  but  she  vras 
sleeping  in  happiness,  her  long  lashes  were  tightly  pressed 
against  her  cheeks,  as  if  to  secure  her  eyes  from  too  strong  a 
light,  or  to  aid  an  effort  of  her  soul  to  recollect  and  to  hold  fast 
a  bliss  that  had  been  perfect  but  fleeting.  Her  tiny  pink  and 
white  ear,  framed  by  a  lock  of  her  hair  and  outlined  by  a 
wrapping  of  Mechlin  lace,  would  have  made  an  artist,  a 


THE  AGONY  225 

painter,  an  old  man,  wildly  in  love,  and  would  perhaps  have 
restored  a  madman  to  his  senses. 

Is  it  not  an  ineffable  bliss  to  behold  the  woman  that  you 
love,  sleeping,  smiling  in  a  peaceful  dream  beneath  your  pro- 
tection, loving  you  even  in  dreams,  even  at  the  point  where 
the  individual  seems  to  cease  to  exist,  offering  to  you  yet  the 
mute  lips  that  speak  to  you  in  slumber  of  the  latest  kiss?  Is 
it  not  indescribable  happiness  to  see  a  trusting  woman,  half- 
clad,  but  wrapped  round  in  her  love  as  by  a  cloak — modesty  in 
the  midst  of  dishevelment — to  see  admiringly  her  scattered 
clothing,  the  silken  stocking  hastily  put  off  to  please  you  last 
evening,  the  unclasped  girdle  that  implies  a  boundless  faith  in 
you.  A  whole  romance  lies  there  in  that  girdle;  the  woman 
that  it  used  to  protect  exists  no  longer;  she  is  yours,  she  has 
become  you;  henceforward  any  betra}  al  of  her  is  a  blow  dealt 
at  yourself. 

In  this  softened  mood  Eaphael's  eyes  wandered  over  the 
room,  now  filled  with  memories  and  love,  and  where  the  very 
daylight  seemed  to  take  delightful  hues.  Then  he  turned  his 
gaze  at  last  upon  the  outlines  of  the  woman's  form,  upon 
youth  and  purity,  and  love  that  even  now  had  no  thought  that 
was  not  for  him  alone,  above  all  things,  and  longed  to  live  for 
ever.  As  his  eyes  fell  upon  Pauline,  her  own  opened  at  once 
as  if  a  ray  of  sunlight  had  lighted  on  them. 

"Good-morning,^'  she  said,  smiling.  "How  handsome  you 
are,  bad  man !" 

The  grace  of  love  and  youth,  of  silence  and  dawn,  shone  in 
their  faces,  making  a  divine  picture,  with  the  fleeting  spell 
over  it  all  that  belongs  only  to  the  earliest  days  of  passion, 
just  as  simplicity  and  artlessness  are  the  peculiar  possession  of 
childhood.  Alas !  love's  springtide  joys,  like  our  own  youth- 
ful laughter,  must  even  take  flight,  and  live  for  us  no  longer 
save  in  memory ;  either  for  our  despair,  or  to  shed  some  sooth- 
ing fragrance  over  us,  according  to  the  bent  of  our  inmost 
thoughts. 

*^hat  made  me  wake  you  ?"  said  Eaphael.    "It  waa  so  great 

IS 


226  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

a  pleasure  to  watch  you  sleeping  that  it  brought  tears  to  my 
eyes." 

"And  to  mine,  too/'  she  answered.  "I  cried  in  the  night 
while  I  watched  you  sleeping,  but  not  with  happiness. 
Eaphael,  dear,  pray  listen  to  me.  Your  breathing  is  labored 
while  you  sleep,  and  something  rattles  in  your  chest  that 
frightens  me.  You  have  a  little  dry  cough  when  you  are 
asleep,  exactly  like  my  father's,  who  is  dying  of  phthisis.  In 
those  sounds  from  your  lungs  I  recognized  some  of  the  pe- 
culiar symptoms  of  that  complaint.    Then  you  are  feverish; 

I  know  you  are;  your  hand  was  moist  and  burning 

Darling,  you  are  young,"  she  added  with  a  shudder,  "and  you 

could  still  get  over  it  if  unfortunately But,  no,"  she  cried 

cheerfully,  "there  is  no  Unfortunately/  the  disease  is  con- 
tagious, so  the  doctors  say." 

She  flung  both  arms  about  Eaphael,  drawing  in  his  breath 
through  one  of  those  kisses  in  which  the  soul  reaches  its  end. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  live  to  old  age/'  she  said.  "Let  us  both 
die  young,  and  go  to  heaven  while  flowers  fill  our  hands." 

"We  always  make  such  designs  as  those  when  we  are  well 
and  strong,"  Raphael  replied,  burying  his  hands  in  Pauline's 
hair.  But  even  then  a  horrible  fit  of  coughing  came  on,  one 
of  those  deep  ominous  coughs  that  seem  to  come  from  the 
depths  of  the  tomb,  a  cough  that  leaves  the  sufferer  ghastly 
pale,  trembling,  and  perspiring ;  with  aching  sides  and  quiver- 
ing nerves,  with  a  feeling  of  weariness  pervading  the  very 
marrow  of  the  spine,  and  unspeakable  languor  in  every  vein. 
Raphael  slowly  laid  himself  down,  pale,  exhausted,  and  over- 
come, like  a  man  who  has  spent  all  the  strength  in  him  over 
one  final  effort.  Pauline's  eyes,  grown  large  with  terror,  were 
fixed  upon  him ;  she  lay  quite  motionless,  pale,  and  silent. 

*TLet  us  commit  no  more  follies,  my  angel,"  she  said,  trying 
not  to  let  Raphael  see  the  dreadful  forebodings  that  disturbed 
her.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  for  she  saw  Death 
before  her — the  hideous  skeleton.  Raphael's  face  had  grown 
as  pale  and  livid  as  any  skull  unearthed  from  a  churchyard 
to  assist  the  studies  of  some  scientific  man.    Pauline  remem- 


THE  AGONY  227 

bered  the  exclamation  that  had  escaped  from  Valentin  the 
previous  evening,  and  to  herself  she  said : 

"Yes,  there  are  gulfs  that  love  can  never  cross,  and  therein 
love  must  bury  itself." 

On  a  March  morning,  some  days  after  this  wretched  scene, 
Eaphael  found  himself  seated  in  an  armchair,  placed  in  the 
window  in  the  full  light  of  day.  Four  doctors  stood  round 
him,  each  in  turn  trying  his  pulse,  feeling  him  over,  and  ques- 
tioning him  with  apparent  interest.  The  invalid  sought  to 
guess  their  thoughts,  putting  a  construction  on  every  move- 
ment they  made,  and  on  the  slightest  contractions  of  their 
brows.  His  last  hope  lay  in  this  consultation.  This  court  of 
appeal  was  about  to  pronounce  its  decision — life  or  death. 

Valentin  had  summoned  the  oracles  of  modern  medicine, 
so  that  he  might  have  the  last  word  of  science.  Thanks  to 
his  wealth  and  title,  there  stood  before  him  three  embodied 
theories ;  human  knowledge  fluctuated  round  the  three  points. 
Three  of  the  doctors  brought  among  them  the  complete  circle 
of  medical  philosophy ;  they  represented  the  points  of  conflict 
round  which  the  battle  raged,  between  Spiritualism,  Analysis, 
and  goodness  knows  what  in  the  way  of  mocking  eclecticism. 

The  fourth  doctor  was  Horace  Bianchon,  a  man  of  science 
with  a  future  before  him,  the  most  distinguished  man  of  the 
new  school  in  medicine,  a  discreet  and  unassuming  representa- 
tive of  a  studious  generation  that  is  preparing  to  receive  the 
inheritance  of  fifty  years  of  experience  treasured  up  by  the 
ficole  de  Paris,  a  generation  that  perhaps  will  erect  the  monu- 
ment for  the  building  of  which  the  centuries  behind  us  have 
collected  the  different  materials.  As  a  personal  friend  of  the 
Marquis  and  of  Rastignac,  he  had  been  in  attendance  on  the 
former  for  some  days  past,  and  was  helping  him  to  answer 
the  inquiries  of  the  three  professors,  occasionally  insisting 
somewhat  upon  those  symptoms  which,  in  his  opinion,  pointed 
to  pulmonary  disease. 

"You  have  been  living  at  a  great  pace,  leading  a  dissipated 
life,  no  doubt,  and  you  have  devoted  yourself  largely  to  intel- 
lectual work  ?"  queried  one  of  the  three  celebrated  authorities. 


228  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

addressing  Eaphael.  He  was  a  square-headed  man,  with  a 
large  frame  and  energetic  organization,  which  seemed  to  mark 
him  out  as  superior  to  his  two  rivals. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  to  kill  myself  with  debaucher}%  after 
spending  three  years  over  an  extensive  work,  with  which  per- 
haps you  may  some  day  occupy  yourselves,"  Raphael  replied. 

The  great  doctor  shook  his  head,  and  so  displayed  his  sat- 
isfaction. "I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  seemed  to  say  to  himself.  He 
was  the  illustrious  Brisset,  the  successor  of  Cabanis  and 
Bichat,  head  of  the  Organic  School,  a  doctor  popular  with 
believers  in  material  and  positive  science,  who  see  in  man  a 
complete  individual,  subject  solely  to  the  laws  of  his  own 
particular  organization;  and  who  consider  that  his  normal 
condition  and  abnormal  stat'^s  of  disease  can  both  be  traced  to 
obvious  causes. 

After  this  reply,  Brisset  looked,  without  speaking,  at  a 
middle-sized  person,  M'hose  darkly  flushed  countenance  and 
glowing  eyes  seemed  to  belong  to  some  antique  satyr ;  and  who, 
leaning  his  back  against  the  corner  of  the  embrasure,  was 
studying  Eaphael,  without  saying  a  word.  Doctor  Came- 
ristus,  a  man  of  creeds  and  enthusiasms,  the  head  of  the 
^'Vitalists,"  a  romantic  champion  of  the  esoteric  doctrines  of 
Van  Helmont,  discerned  a  lofty  informing  principle  in 
human  life,  a  mysterious  and  inexplicable  phenomenon  which 
mocks  at  the  scalpel,  deceives  the  surgeon,  eludes  the  drugs  of 
the  pharmacopoeia,  the  formulas  of  algebra,  the  demonstra- 
tions of  anatomy,  and  derides  all  our  efforts;  a  sort  of  in- 
visible, intangible  flame,  which,  obeying  some  divinely  ap- 
pointed law,  will  often  linger  on  in  a  body  in  our  opinion 
devoted  to  death,  while  it  takes  flight  from  an  organization 
well  fitted  for  prolonged  existence. 

A  bitter  smile  hovered  upon  the  lips  of  the  third  doctor, 
Maugredie,  a  man  of  acknowledged  ability,  but  a  Pyrrhonist 
and  a  scoffer,  with  the  scalpel  for  his  one  article  of  faith. 
He  would  consider,  as  a  concession  to  Brisset,  that  a  man 
who,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  perfectly  well  was  dead,  and 
recognize  with  Cameristus  that  a  man  might  be  living  on 


THE  AGONY  229 

after  his  apparent  demise.  He  found  something  sensible  in 
every  theory,  and  embraced  none  of  them,  claiming  that  the 
best  of  all  S3^stems  of  medicine  was  to  have  none  at  all,  and 
to  stick  to  facts.  This  Panurge  of  the  Clinical  Schools, 
the  king  of  observers,  the  great  investigator,  great  sceptic,  the 
man  of  desperate  expedients,  was  scrutinizing  the  Magic  Skin. 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  be  a  witness  of  the  coincidence 
of  its  retrenchment  with  your  wish,"  he  said  to  the  Marquis. 

"Where  is  the  use  ?"  cried  Brisset. 

"Where  is  the  use  ?"  echoed  Cameristus. 

"Ah,  you  are  both  of  the  same  mind,"  replied  Maugredie. 

"The  contraction  is  perfectly  simple,"  Brisset  went  on. 

"It  is  supernatural,"  remarked  Cameristus. 

"In  short,"  Maugredie  made  answer,  with  affected 
solemnity,  and  handing  the  piece  of  skin  to  Eaphael  as  he 
spoke,  "the  shriveling  faculty  of  the  skin  is  a  fact  inexplica- 
ble, and  yet  quite  natural,  which,  ever  since  the  world  be- 
gan, has  been  the  despair  of  medicine  and  of  pretty  women." 

All  Valentin's  observation  could  discover  no  trace  of  a  feel- 
ing for  his  troubles  in  any  of  the  three  doctors.  The  three 
received  eveiy  answer  in  silence,  scanned  him  unconcernedly, 
and  interrogated  him  unsympathetically.  Politeness  did 
not  conceal  their  indifference;  whether  deliberation  or  cer- 
tainty was  the  cause,  their  words  at  any  rate  came  so  seldom 
and  so  languidly,  that  at  times  Eaphael  thought  that  their 
attention  was  wandering.  From  time  to  time  Brisset,  the 
sole  speaker,  remarked,  "Good !  just  so !"  as  Bianchon  pointed 
out  the  existence  of  each  desperate  symptom.  Cameristus 
seemed  to  be  deep  in  meditation;  Maugredie  looked  like  a 
comic  author,  studying  two  queer  characters  with  a  view  to 
reproducing  them  faithfully  upon  the  stage.  There  was  deep, 
unconcealed  distress,  and  grave  compassion  in  Horace 
Bianchon's  face.  He  had  been  a  doctor  for  too  short  a  time 
to  be  untouched  by  suffering  and  unmoved  by  a  deathbed; 
he  had  not  learned  to  keep  back  the  sympathetic  tears  that 
obscure  a  man's  clear  vision  and  prevent  him  from  seizing, 
like  the  general  of  an  army,  upon  the  auspicious  moment  for 
victory,  in  utter  disregard  of  th^  groans  of  dying  men. 


230  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

After  spending  about  half  an  hour  over  taking  in  some  sort 
the  measure  of  the  patient  and  the  complaint,  much  as  a 
tailor  measures  a  young  man  for  a  coat  when  he  orders  his 
wedding  outfit,  the  authorities  uttered  several  commonplaces, 
and  even  talked  of  polities.  Then  they  decided  to  go 
into  Eaphael's  study  to  exchange  their  ideas  and  frame  their 
verdict. 

"May  I  not  be  present  during  the  discussion,  gentlemen  ?'* 
Valentin  had  asked  them,  but  Brisset  and  Maugredie  pro- 
tested against  this,  and,  in  spite  of  their  patient's  entreaties, 
declined  altogether  to  deliberate  in  his  presence. 

Eaphael  gave  way  before  their  custom,  thinking  that  he 
could  slip  into  a  passage  adjoining,  whence  he  could  easily 
overhear  the  medical  conference  in  which  the  three  professors 
were  about  to  engage. 

"Permit  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Brisset,  as  they  entered,  "to 
give  you  my  own  opinion  at  once.  I  neither  wish  to  force 
it  upon  5'ou  nor  to  have  it  discussed.  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
unbiased,  concise,  and  based  on  an  exact  similarity  that  exists 
between  one  of  my  own  patients  and  the  subject  that  we  have 
been  called  in  to  examine;  and,  moreover,  I  am  expected  at 
my  hospital.  The  importance  of  the  case  that  demands  my 
presence  there  will  excuse  me  for  speaking  the  first  word. 
The  subject  with  which  we  are  concerned  has  been  exhausted 
in  an  equal  degree  by  intellectual  labors — what  did  he  set 
about,  Horace  ?"  he  asked  of  the  young  doctor. 

"A  'Theory  of  the  Will.' " 

"The  devil !  but  that's  a  big  subject.  He  is  exhausted, 
I  say,  by  too  much  brain-work,  by  irregular  courses,  and  by 
the  repeated  use  of  too  powerful  stimulants.  Violent  ex- 
ertion of  body  and  mind  has  demoralized  the  whole  system. 
It  is  easy,  gentlemen,  to  recognize  in  the  symptoms  of  the 
face  and  body  generally  intense  irritation  of  the  stomach,  an 
affection  of  the  great  sympathetic  nerve,  acute  sensibility  of 
the  epigastric  region,  and  contraction  of  the  right  and  left 
hypochondriac.  You  have  noticed,  too,  the  large  size  and 
prominence  of  the  liver.       M.  Bianchon  has,  besides,  con- 


THE  AGONY  231 

Btantly  ■watched  the  patient,  and  he  tells  us  that  digestion  is 
troublesome  and  difficult.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no 
stomach  left,  and  so  the  man  has  disappeared.  The  brain  is 
atrophied  because  the  man  digests  no  longer.  The  pro- 
gressive deterioration  wrought  in  the  epigastric  region,  the 
seat  of  vitality,  has  vitiated  the  whole  system.  Thence,  by 
continuous  fevered  vibrations,  the  disorder  has  reached  the 
brain  by  means  of  the  nervous  plexus,  hence  the  excessive 
irritation  in  that  organ.  There  is  monomania.  The  patient 
is  burdened  with  a  fixed  idea.  That  piece  of  skin  really  con- 
tracts, to  his  way  of  thinking;  very  likely  it  always  has 
been  as  we  have  seen  it ;  but  whether  it  contracts  or  no,  that 
thing  is  for  him  just  like  the  fly  that  some  Grand  Vizier  or 
other  had  on  his  nose.  If  you  put  leeches  at  once  on  the 
epigastrium,  and  reduce  the  irritation  in  that  part,  which  is 
the  very  seat  of  man's  life,  and  if  you  diet  the  patient,  the 
monomania  will  leave  him.  I  will  say  no  more  to  Dr. 
Bianchon ;  he  should  be  able  to  grasp  the  whole  treatment  as 
well  as  the  details.  There  may  be,  perhaps,  some  complica- 
tion of  the  disease — the  bronchial  tubes,  possibly,  may  be  also 
inflamed;  but  I  believe  that  treatment  for  the  intestinal 
organs  is  very  much  more  important  and  necessary^  and  more 
urgently  required  than  for  the  lungs.  Persistent  study  of 
abstract  matters,  and  certain  violent  passions,  have  induced 
serious  disorders  in  that  vital  mechanism.  However,  we  are 
in  time  to  set  these  conditions  right.  Nothing  it  too  seriously 
affected.  You  will  easily  get  your  friend  round  again,"  he 
remarked  to  Bianchon 

"Our  learned  colleague  is  taking  the  effect  for  the  cause,'* 
Cameristus  replied.  "Yes,  the  changes  that  he  has  observed 
so  keenly  certainly  exist  in  the  patient;  but  it  is  not  the 
stomach  that,  by  degrees,  has  set  up  nervous  action  in  the 
system,  and  so  affected  the  brain,  like  a  hole  in  a  window 
pane  spreading  cracks  round  about  it.  It  took  a  blow  of  some 
kind  to  make  a  hole  in  the  window;  who  gj^ve  the  blow? 
Do  we  know  that?  Have  we  investigated  the  patient's  oase 
sufficiently?  Are  we  acquainted  with  all  th4  events  of  his 
life? 


232  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"The  vital  principle,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "the 
Archeus  of  Van  Helmont,  is  affected  in  his  case — the  very 
essence  and  centre  of  life  is  attacked.  The  divine  spark,  the 
transitory  intelligence  which  holds  the  organism  together, 
which  is  the  source  of  the  will,  the  inspiration  of  life,  has 
ceased  to  regulate  the  daily  phenomena  of  the  mechanism 
and  the  functions  of  every  organ;  thence  arise  all  the  com- 
plications which  my  learned  colleague  has  so  thoroughly  ap- 
preciated. The  epigastric  region  does  not  affect  the  brain, 
but  the  brain  affects  the  epigastric  region.  No,"  he  went  on, 
vigorously  slapping  his  chest,  "no,  I  am  not  a  stomach  in  the 
form  of  a  man.  No,  everything  does  not  lie  there.  I  do 
not  feel  that  I  have  the  courage  to  say  that  if  the  epigastric 
region  is  in  good  order,  everything  else  is  in  a  like  con- 
dition  

"We  cannot  trace,''  he  went  on  more  mildly,  "to  one 
physical  cause  the  serious  disturbances  that  supervene  in 
this  or  that  subject  which  has  been  dangerously  attacked,  nor 
submit  them  to  a  uniform  treatment.  No  one  man  is  like 
another.  We  have  each  peculiar  organs,  differently  affected, 
diversely  nourished,  adapted  to  perform  different  functions, 
and  to  induce  a  condition  necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of 
an  order  of  things  which  is  unknown  to  us.  The  sublime 
will  has  so  wrought  that  a  little  portion  of  the  great  All  is  set 
within  us  to  sustain  the  phenomena  of  living;  in  every  man 
it  formulates  itself  distinctly,  making  each,  to  all  appear- 
ance, a  separate  individual,  yet  in  one  point  co-existent  with 
the  infinite  cause.  So  we  ought  to  make  a  separate  study  of 
each  subject,  discover  all  about  it,  find  out  in  what  its  life  con- 
sists, and  wherein  its  power  lies.  From  the  softness  of  a  wet 
sponge  to  the  hardness  of  pumice-stone  there  are  infinite  fine 
degrees  of  difference.  Man  is  just  like  that.  Between  the 
sponge-like  organizations  of  the  lymphatic  and  the  s^igorous 
iron  muscles  of  such  men  as  are  destined  for  a  lono  life, 
what  a  margin  for  errors  for  the  single  inflexible  system  of  a 
lowering  treatment  to  commit;  a  system  that  reduces  the 
capacities  of  the  human  frame,  which  you  always  conclude 


THE  AGONY  233 

have  been  over-excited.  Let  us  look  for  the  origin  of  the 
disease  in  the  mental  and  not  in  the  physical  viscera.  A 
doctor  is  an  inspired  being,  endowed  by  God  with  a  special 
gift — the  power  to  read  the  secrets  of  vitality;  just  as  the 
prophet  has  received  the  eyes  that  foresee  the  future,  the  poet 
his  faculty  of  evoking  nature,  and  the  musician  the  power 
of  arranging  sounds  in  an  harmonious  order  that  is  possibly 
a  copy  of  an  ideal  harmony  on  high." 

"There  is  his  everlasting  system  of  medicine,  arbitrary, 
monarchical,  and  pious,"  muttered  Brisset. 

"Gentlemen,"  Maugredie  broke  in  hastily,  to  distract  at- 
tention from  Brisset's  comment,  "don't  let  us  lose  sight  of 
the  patient." 

"What  is  the  good  of  science?"  Eaphael  moaned.  "Here 
is  my  recovery  halting  between  a  string  of  beads  and  a  rosary 
of  leeches,  between  Dupuytren's  bistoury  and  Prince  Hohen- 
lohe's  prayer.  There  is  Maugredie  suspending  his  judgment 
on  the  line  that  divides  facts  from  words,  mind  from  matter. 
Man's  'it  is,'  and  'it  is  not,'  is  always  on  my  track;  it  is  the 
Carymary  Carymara  of  Eabelais  for  evermore:  my  disorder 
is  spiritual,  Carymary,  or  material,  Carymara.  Shall  I  live  ? 
They  have  no  idea.  Planchette  was  more  straightforward 
with  me,  at  any  rate,  when  he  said,  'I  do  not  know.'  " 

Just  then  Valentin  heard  Maugredie's  voice. 

"The  patient  suffers  from  monomania;  very  good,  I  am 
quite  of  that  opinion,"  he  said,  "but  he  has  two  hundred  thou- 
sand a  year;  monomaniacs  of  that  kind  are  very  uncommon. 
As  for  knowing  whether  his  epigastric  region  has  affected  his 
brain,  or  his  brain  his  epigastric  region,  we  shall  find  that 
out,  perhaps,  whenever  he  dies.  But  to  resume.  There  is  no 
disputing  the  fact  that  he  is  ill;  some  sort  of  treatment  he 
must  have.  Let  us  leave  theories  alone,  and  put  leeches  on 
him,  to  counteract  the  nervous  and  intestinal  irritation,  as 
to  the  existence  of  which  we  all  agree ;  and  let  us  send  him  to 
drink  the  waters,  in  that  way  we  shall  act  on  both  systems  at 
once.  If  there  really  is  tubercular  disease,  we  can  hardly  ex* 
pect  to  save  his  life ;  so  that " 


234  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

Eaphael  abruptly  left  the  passage,  and  went  back  to  Ms 
armchair.  The  four  doctors  very  soon  came  out  of  the 
study ;  Horace  was  the  spokesman. 

"These  gentlemen/'  he  told  him,  'Tiave  unanimously 
agreed  that  leeches  must  be  applied  to  the  stomach  at  once, 
and  that  both  physical  and  moral  treatment  are  imperatively 
needed.  In  the  firet  place,  a  carefully  prescribed  rule  of 
diet,  so  as  to  soothe  the  internal  irritation" — here  Brisset 
signified  his  approval ;  "and  in  the  second,  a  hygienic  regimen, 
to  set  your  general  condition  right.  We  all,  therefore,  rec- 
ommend you  to  go  to  take  the  waters  at  Aix  in  Savoy;  or, 
if  you  like  it  better,  at  Mont  Dore  in  Auvergne ;  the  air  and 
the  situation  are  both  pleasanter  in  Savoy  than  in  the  Cantal, 
but  you  will  consult  your  own  taste." 

Here  it  was  Cameristus  who  nodded  assent. 

"These  gentlemen,"  Bianchon  continued,  "having  rec- 
ognized a  slight  affection  of  the  respiratory  organs,  are  agreed 
as  to  the  utility  of  the  previous  course  of  treatment  that  I 
have  prescribed.  They  think  that  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
about  restoring  you  to  health,  and  that  everything  depends 
upon  a  wise  and  alternate  employment  of  these  various 
means.     And " 

"And  that  is  the  cause  of  the  milk  in  the  cocoanut,"  said 
Eaphael,  with  a  smile,  as  he  led  Horace  into  his  study  to  pay 
the  fees  for  this  useless  consultation. 

"Their  conclusions  are  logical,"  the  young  doctor  replied. 
"Cameristus  feels,  Brisset  examines,  Maugredie  doubts.  Has 
not  man  a  soul,  a  body,  and  an  intelligence?  One  of  these 
three  elemental  constituents  always  influences  us  more  or  less 
strongly ;  there  will  always  be  the  personal  element  in  human 
science.  Believe  me,  Raphael,  we  effect  no  cures;  we  only 
assist  them.  Another  system — the  use  of  mild  remedies  while 
Nature  exerts  her  powers — lies  between  the  extremes  of  theory 
of  Brisset  and  Cameristus,  but  one  ought  to  have  known  the 
patient  for  some  ten  years  or  so  to  obtain  a  good  result  on 
these  lines.  Negation  lies  at  the  back  of  all  medicine,  as  in 
every  other  science.     So  endeavor  to  live  wholesomely;  try  a 


THE  AGONY  233 

trip  to  Savoy;  the  best  course  is,  and  always  will  be,  to  trust 
to  Nature." 

It  was  a  month  later,  on  a  fine  summer-like  evening,  that 
several  people,  who  were  taking  the  waters  at  Aix,  returned 
from  the  promenade  and  met  together  in  the  salons  of  the 
Club.  Eaphael  remained  alone  by  a  window  for  a  long  time. 
His  back  was  turned  upon  the  gathering,  and  he  himself  was 
deep  in  those  involuntary  musings  in  which  thoughts  arise  in 
succession  and  fade  away,  shaping  themselves  indistinctly, 
passing  over  us  like  thin,  almost  colorless  clouds.  Melancholy 
is  sweet  to  us  then,  and  delight  is  shadowy,  for  the  soul  is 
half  asleep.  Valentin  gave  himself  up  to  this  life  of  sensa- 
tions ;  he  was  steeping  himself  in  the  v/arm,  soft  twilight,  en- 
joying the  pure  air  with  the  scent  of  the  hills  in  it,  happy  in 
that  he  felt  no  pain,  and  had  tranquilized  his  threatening 
Magic  Skin  at  last.  It  grew  cooler  as  the  red  glow  of  the 
sunset  faded  on  the  mountain  peaks;  he  shut  the  window 
and  left  his  place. 

"Will  3'ou  be  so  kind  as  not  to  close  the  windows,  sir  ?"  said 
an  old  lady ;  "we  are  being  stifled " 

The  peculiarly  sharp  and  jarring  tones  in  which  the  phrase 
was  uttered  grated  on  Eaphael's  ears;  it  fell  on  them  like 
an  indiscreet  remark  let  slip  by  some  man  in  whose  friendship 
we  would  fain  believe,  a  word  which  reveals  unsuspected 
depths  of  selfishness  and  destroys  some  pleasing  sentimental 
illusion  of  ours.  The  Marquis  glanced,  with  the  cool  in- 
scrutable expression  of  a  diplomatist,  at  the  old  lady,  called 
a  servant,  and,  when  he  came,  curtly  bade  him 

"Open  that  window." 

Great  surprise  was  clearly  expressed  on  all  faces  at  the 
words.  The  whole  roomful  began  to  whisper  to  each  other, 
and  turned  their  eyes  upon  the  invalid,  as  though  he  had 
given  some  serious  offence.  Raphael,  who  had  never  quite 
managed  to  rid  himself  of  the  bashfulness  of  his  early  youth, 
felt  a  momentary  confusion ;  then  he  shook  off  his  torpor,  ex- 
erted his  faculties,  and  asked  himself  the  meaning  of  this 
strange  scene. 


236  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

A  sudden  and  rapid  impulse  quickened  his  brain ;  the  past 
weeks  appeared  before  him  in  a  clear  and  definite  vision ;  the 
reasons  for  the  feelings  he  inspired  in  others  stood  out  for 
him  in  relief,  like  the  veins  of  some  corpse  which  a  naturalist, 
by  some  cunningly  contrived  injection,  has  colored  so  as  to 
show  their  least  ramifications. 

He  discerned  himself  in  this  fleeting  picture;  he  followed 
out  his  own  life  in  it,  thought  by  thought,  day  after  day. 
He  saw  himself,  not  without  astonishment,  an  absent  gloomy 
figure  in  the  midst  of  these  lively  folk,  always  musing  over 
his  own  fate,  always  absorbed  by  his  own  sufferings,  seem- 
ingly impatient  of  the  most  harmless  chat.  He  saw  how  he 
had  shunned  the  ephemeral  intimacies  that  travelers  are  so 
ready  to  establish — no  doubt  because  they  feel  sure  of  never 
meeting  each  other  again — and  how  he  had  taken  little  heed 
of  those  about  him.  He  saw  himself  like  the  rocks  without, 
unmoved  by  the  caresses  or  the  stormy  surgings  of  the 
waves. 

Then,  by  a  gift  of  insight  seldom  accorded,  he  read  the 
thoughts  of  all  those  about  him.  The  light  of  a  candle 
revealed  the  sardonic  profile  and  yellow  cranium  of  an  old 
man;  he  remembered  now  that  he  had  won  from  him,  and 
had  never  proposed  that  the  other  should  have  his  revenge; 
a  little  further  on  he  saw  a  pretty  woman,  whose  lively 
advances  he  had  met  with  frigid  coolness;  there  was  not  a 
face  there  that  did  not  reproach  him  wdth  some  wrong  done, 
inexplicably  to  all  appearance,  but  the  real  offence  in  every 
case  lay  in  some  mortification,  some  invisible  hurt  dealt  to 
self-love.  He  had  unintentionally  jarred  on  all  the  small 
susceptibilities  of  the  circle  round  about  him. 

His  guests  on  various  occasions,  and  those  to  whom  he 
had  lent  his  horses,  had  taken  offence  at  his  luxurious  ways; 
their  ungraciousness  had  been  a  surprise  to  him ;  he  had 
spared  them  further  humiliations  of  that  kind,  and  they  had 
considered  that  he  looked  down  upon  them,  and  had  accused 
him  of  haughtiness  ever  since.  He  could  read  their  inmost 
thoughts  as  he  fathomed  their  natures  in  this  way.     Society 


THE  AGONY  237 

with  its  polish  and  varnish  grew  loathsome  to  him.  He  was 
envied  and  hated  for  his  wealth  and  superior  ability;  his  re- 
serve baffled  the  inquisitive ;  his  humility  seemed  like  haughti- 
ness to  these  petty  superficial  natures.  He  guessed  the  secret 
unpardonable  crime  which  he  had  committed  against  them; 
he  had  overstepped  the  limits  of  the  jurisdiction  of  their 
mediocrity.  He  had  resisted  their  inquisitorial  tyranny;  he 
could  dispense  with  their  society ;  and  all  of  them,  therefore, 
had  instinctively  combined  to  make  him  feel  their  power,  and/ 
to  take  revenge  upon  this  incipient  royalty  b}''  submitting  him 
to  a  kind  of  ostracism,  and  so  teaching  him  that  they  in  their 
turn  could  do  without  him. 

Pity  came  over  him,  first  of  all,  at  this  aspect  of  man- 
kind, but  very  soon  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  power 
that  came  thus,  at  will,  and  flung  aside  for  him  the  veil  of 
flesh  under  which  the  moral  nature  is  hidden  away.  He 
closed  his  eves,  so  as  to  see  no  more.  A  black  curtain  was 
dra-nm  all  at  once  over  this  unlucky  phantom  show  of  truth; 
but  still  he  found  himself  in  the  terrible  loneliness  that  sur- 
rounds every  power  and  dominion.  Just  then  a  violent  fit 
of  coughing  seized  him.  Far  from  receiving  one  single  word 
— indifferent,  and  meaningless,  it  is  true,  but  still  containing, 
among  well-bred  people  brought  together  by  chance,  at  least 
some  pretence  of  civil  commiseration — he  now  heard  hostile 
ejaculations  and  muttered  complaints.  Society  there  as- 
sembled disdained  any  pantomime  on  his  account,  perhaps 
because  he  had  gauged  its  real  nature  too  well. 

"His  complaint  is  contagious." 

"The  president  of  the  Club  ought  to  forbid  him  to  enter 
the  salon." 

"It  is  contrary  to  all  rules  and  regulations  to  cough  in 
that  way !" 

"When  a  man  is  as  ill  as  that,  he  ought  not  to  come  to 
take  the  waters " 

"He  will  drive  me  away  from  the  place." 

Raphael  rose  and  walked  about  the  rooms  to  screen  him- 
self from  their  unanimous  execrations.     He  thought  to  find 


238  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

a  shelter,  and  went  up  to  a  young  lady  who  sat  doing  nothing, 
minded  to  address  some  pretty  speeches  to  her;  but  as  he 
came  towards  her,  she  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  watching  the  dancers.  Eaphael  feared  lest  he 
might  have  made  use  of  the  talisman  already  that  evening; 
and  feeling  that  he  had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  courage  to 
break  into  the  conversation,  he  left  the  salon  and  took  refuge 
in  the  billiard-room.  No  one  there  greeted  him,  nobody 
spoke  to  him,  no  one  sent  so  much  as  a  friendly  glance  in  his 
direction.  His  turn  of  mind,  naturally  meditative,  had  dis- 
covered instinctively  the  general  grounds  and  reasons  for  the 
aversion  he  inspired.  This  little  world  was  obeying,  uncon- 
sciously perhaps,  the  sovereign  law  which  rules  over  polite 
society;  its  inexorable  nature  was  becoming  apparent  in  its 
entirety  to  Eaphael's  eyes.  A  glance  into  the  past  showed  it 
to  him,  as  a  type  completely  realized  in  Foedora. 

He  would  no  more  meet  with  sympathy  here  for  his  bodily 
ills  than  he  had  received  it  at  her  hands  for  the  distress  in 
his  heart.  The  fashionable  world  expels  every  suffering 
creature  from  its  midst,  just  as  the  body  of  a  man  in  robust 
health  rejects  any  germ  of  disease.  The  world  holds  suffering 
and  misfortune  in  abhorrence ;  it  dreads  them  like  the  plague ; 
it  never  hesitates  between  vice  and  trouble,  for  vice  is  a  luxury. 
Ill-fortune  may  possess  a  majesty  of  its  own,  but  society  can 
belittle  it  and  make  it  ridiculous  by  an  epigram.  Society 
draws  caricatures,  and  in  this  way  flings  in  the  teeth  of 
fallen  kings  the  affronts  which  it  fancies  it  has  received  from 
them;  societ}^  like  the  Eoman  youth  at  the  circus,  never 
shows  mercy  to  the  fallen  gladiator;  mockery  and  money  are 
its  vital  necessities.  "Death  to  the  weak !"  That  is  the 
oath  taken  by  this  kind  of  Equestrian  order,  instituted  in 
their  midst  by  all  the  nations  of  the  world;  everywhere  it 
makes  for  the  elevation  of  the  rich,  and  its  motto  is  deeply 
graven  in  hearts  that  wealth  has  turned  to  stone,  or  that  have 
been  reared  in  aristocratic  prejudices. 

Assemble  a  collection  of  school-boys  together.  That  will 
give  you  a  society  in  miniature,  a  miniature  which  represents 


THE  AGONY  239 

life  more  truly,  because  it  is  so  frank  and  artless ;  and  in  it 
you  will  always  find  poor  isolated  beings,  relegated  to  some 
place  in  the  general  estimation  between  pity  and  contempt, 
on  account  of  their  weakness  and  suffering.  To  these  the 
Evangel  promises  heaven  hereafter.  Go  lower  yet  in  the 
scale  of  organized  creation.  If  some  bird  among  its  fellows 
in  the  courtyard  sickens,  the  others  fall  upon  it  with  their 
beaks,  pluck  out  its  feathers,  and  kill  it.  The  whole  world, 
in  accordance  with  its  charter  of  egotism,  brings  all  its 
severity  to  bear  upon  wretchedness  that  has  the  hardihood  to 
spoil  its  festivities,  and  to  trouble  its  joys. 

Any  sufferer  in  mind  or  body,  any  helpless  or  poor  man, 
is  a  pariah.  He  had  better  remain  in  his  solitude;  if  he 
crosses  the  boundary-line,  he  will  find  winter  everywhere ;  he 
will  find  freezing  cold  in  other  men's  looks,  manners,  words, 
and  hearts ;  and  lucky  indeed  is  he  if  he  does  not  receive  an 
insult  where  he  expected  that  sympathy  would  be  expended 
upon  him.  Let  the  dying  keep  to  their  bed  of  neglect,  and  age 
sit  lonely  by  its  fireside.  Portionless  maids,  freeze  and  burn 
in  your  solitary  attics.  If  the  world  tolerates  misery  of  any 
kind,  it  is  to  turn  it  to  account  for  its  own  purposes,  to  make 
some  use  of  it,  saddle  and  bridle  it,  put  a  bit  in  its  mouth, 
ride  it  about,  and  get  some  fun  out  of  it. 

Crotchety  spinsters,  ladies'  companions,  put  a  cheerful  face 
upon  it,  endure  the  humors  of  your  so-called  benefactress, 
carry  lier  lapdogs  for  her;  you  have  an  English  poodle  for 
your  rival,  and  you  must  seek  to  understand  the  moods  of 
your  patroness,  and  amuse  her,  and — keep  silence  about  your- 
selves. As  for  you,  unblushing  parasite,  uncrowned  king  of 
unliveried  servants,  leave  your  real  character  at  home,  let 
your  digestion  keep  pace  with  your  host's,  laugh  when  he 
laughs,  mingle  your  tears  with  his,  and  find  his  epigrams 
amusing;  if  you  want  to  relieve  your  mind  about  him,  wait 
till  he  is  ruined.  That  is  the  way  the  world  shows  its  respect 
for  the  unfortunate ;  it  persecutes  them,  or  slays  them ;  it  de- 
prives them  of  their  manhood,  or  humbles  them  in  the  dust. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  welled  up  in  Eaphael's  heart  with 


240  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

the  suddenness  of  poetic  inspiration.  He  looked  around 
him,  and  felt  the  influence  of  the  forbidding  gloom  that 
society  breathes  out  in  order  to  rid  itself  of  the  unfortunate ; 
it  nipped  his  soul  more  effectually  than  the  east  wind  grips 
the  body  in  December.  He  locked  his  arms  over  his  chest,  set 
his  back  against  the  wall,  and  fell  into  a  deep  melancholy. 
He  mused  upon  the  meagre  happiness  that  this  depressing 
way  of  living  can  give.  What  did  it  amount  to?  Amuse- 
ment with  no  pleasure  in  it,  gaiety  without  gladness,  joyless 
festivity,  fevered  dreams  empty  of  all  delight,  firewood  or 
ashes  on  the  hearth  without  a  spark  of  flame  in  them.  When 
he  raised  his  head,  he  found  himself  alone,  all  the  billiard 
players  had  gone. 

"I  have  only  to  let  them  know  my  power  to  make  them 
worship  my  coughing  fits,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  wrapped 
himself  against  the  world  in  the  cloak  of  his  contempt. 

Next  day  the  resident  doctor  came  to  call  upon  him,  and 
took  an  anxious  interest  in  his  health.  Eaphael  felt  a  thrill 
of  joy  at  the  friendly  words  addressed  to  him.  The  doctor's 
face,  to  his  thinking,  wore  an  expression  that  was  kind  and 
pleasant;  the  pale  curls  of  his  wig  seemed  redolent  of 
philanthropy ;  the  square  cut  of  his  coat,  the  loose  folds  of  his 
trousers,  his  big  Quaker-like  shoes,  everything  about  him  down 
to  the  powder  shaken  from  his  queue  and  dusted  in  a  circle 
upon  his  slightly  stooping  shoulders,  revealed  an  apostolic 
nature,  and  spoke  of  Christian  charity  and  of  the  self-sacrifice 
of  a  man,  who,  out  of  sheer  devotion  to  his  patients,  had  com- 
pelled himself  to  learn  to  play  whist  and  tric-trac  so  well  that 
he  never  lost  money  to  any  of  them. 

"My  Lord  Marquis,"  said  he,  after  a  long  talk  with  Eaphael, 
*'I  can  dispel  your  uneasiness  beyond  all  doubt.  I  know  your 
constitution  well  enough  by  this  time  to  assure  you  that  the 
doctors  in  Paris,  whose  great  abilities  I  know,  are  mistaken  as 
to  the  nature  of  your  complaint.  You  can  live  as  long  as 
Methuselah,  my  Lord  Marquis,  accidents  only  excepted. 
Your  lungs  are  as  sound  as  a  blacksmith's  bellows,  your 
stomach  would  put  an  ostrich  to  the  blush ;  but  if  you  persist 


THE  AGONY  241 

in  living  at  a  high  altitude,  you  are  running  the  risk  of  a 
prompt  interment  in  consecrated  soil.  A  few  words,  my 
Lord  Marquis,  will  make  my  meaning  clear  to  you. 

"Chemistry,^'  he  began,  "has  shown  us  that  man's  breath- 
ing is  a  real  process  of  combustion,  and  the  intensity  of  its 
action  varies  according  to  the  abundance  or  scarcity  of  the 
phlogistic  element  stored  up  by  the  organism  of  each  in- 
dividual. In  your  case,  the  phlogistic  or  inflammatory  element 
is  abundant ;  if  you  will  permit  me  to  put  it  so,  you  generate 
superfluous  ox5^gen,  possessing  as  you  do  the  inflammatory 
temperament  of  a  man  destined  to  experience  strong  emo- 
tions. While  you  breathe  the  keen,  pure  air  that  stimulates 
life  in  men  of  lymphatic  constitution,  you  are  accelerating 
an  expenditure  of  vitality  already  too  rapid.  One  of  the 
conditions  of  existence  for  you  is  the  heavier  atmosphere  of 
the  plains  and  valleys.  Yes,  the  vital  air  for  a  man  consumed 
by  his  genius  lies  in  the  fertile  pasture-lands  of  Germany,  at 
Toplitz  or  Baden-Baden.  If  England  is  not  obnoxious  to 
you,  its  misty  climate  would  reduce  your  fever ;  but  the  situa- 
tion of  our  baths,  a  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
Mediterranean,  is  dangerous  for  you.  That  is  my  opinion 
at  least,"  lie  said,  with  a  deprecatory  gesture,  "and  I  give  it  in 
opposition  to  our  interests,  for,  if  you  act  upon  it,  we  shall 
unfortunately  lose  you." 

But  for  these  closing  words  of  his,  the  affable  doctor's 
seeming  good-nature  would  have  completely  won  Eaphael 
over ;  but  he  was  too  profoundly  observant  not  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  tone,  the  look  and  gesture  that  accom- 
panied that  mild  sarcasm,  not  to  see  that  the  little  man  had 
been  sent  on  this  errand,  no  doubt,  by  a  flock  of  his  rejoicing 
patients.  The  florid-looking  idlers,  tedious  old  women, 
nomad  English  people,  and  fine  ladies  who  had  given  their 
husbands  the  slip,  and  were  escorted  hither  by  their  lovers — 
one  and  all  were  in  a  plot  to  drive  away  a  wretched,  feeble  crea- 
ture about  to  die,  who  seemed  unable  to  hold  out  against  a 
daily  renewed  persecution !  Raphael  accepted  the  challenge ;  he 
foresaw  some  amusement  to  be  derived  from  their  mancEUvres. 
j6 


242  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"As  you  would  be  grieved  at  losing  me,"  said  he  to  the 
doctor,  "I  will  endeavor  to  avail  myself  of  your  good  advice 
without  leaving  the  place.  I  will  set  about  having  a  house 
built  to-morrow,  and  the  atmosphere  within  it  shall  be 
regulated  by  your  instructions." 

The  doctor  understood  the  sarcastic  smile  that  lurked  about 
Eaphael's  mouth,  and  took  his  leave  without  finding  another 
word  to  say. 

The  Lake  of  Bourget  lies  seven  hundred  feet  above  the 
Mediterranean,  in  a  great  hollow  among  the  jagged  peaks  of 
the  hills;  it  sparkles  there,  the  bluest  drop  of  water  in  the 
world.  From  the  summit  of  the  Cat's  Tooth  the  lake  below 
looks  like  a  stray  turquoise.  This  lovely  sheet  of  water  is 
about  twenty-seven  miles  round,  and  in  some  places  is  nearly 
five  hundred  feet  deep. 

Under  the  cloudless  sky,  in  your  boat  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  expanse  of  water,  with  only  the  sound  of  the  oars  in  your 
ears,  only  the  vague  outline  of  the  hills  on  the  horizon  before 
you;  you  admire  the  glittering  snows  of  the  French 
Maurienne;  you  pass,  now  by  masses  of  granite  clad  in  the 
velvet  of  green  turf  or  in  low-growing  shrubs,  now  by 
pleasant  sloping  meadows ;  there  is  always  a  wilderness  on  the 
one  hand  and  fertile  lands  on  the  other,  and  both  harmonies 
and  dissonances  compose  a  scene  for  you  where  everything 
is  at  once  small  and  vast,  and  you  feel  yourself  to  be  a  poor 
onlooker  at  a  great  banquet.  The  configuration  of  the 
mountains  brings  about  misleading  optical  conditions  and 
illusions  of  perspective ;  a  pine-tree  a  hundred  feet  in  height 
looks  to  be  a  mere  weed;  wide  valleys  look  as  narrow  as 
meadow  paths.  The  lake  is  the  only  one  where  the  con- 
fidences of  heart  and  heart  can  be  exchanged.  There  one  can 
love;  there  one  can  meditate.  Nowhere  on  earth  will  you 
find  a  closer  understanding  between  the  water,  the  sky,  the 
mountains,  and  the  fields.  There  is  a  balm  there  for  all  the 
agitations  of  life.  The  place  keeps  the  secrets  of  sorrow  to 
itself,  the  sorrow  that  grows  less  beneath  its  soothing  in- 
fluence; and  to  love,  it  gives  a  grave  and  meditative  cast. 


THE  AGONY  243 

deepening  passion  and  purifying  it.  A  kiss  there  becomes 
something  great.  But  beyond  all  other  things  it  is  the 
lake  for  memories ;  it  aids  them  by  lending  to  them  the  hues 
of  its  own  waves;  it  is  a  mirror  in  which  everything  is  re- 
flected. Only  here,  with  this  lovely  landscape  all  around  him, 
could  Eaphael  endure  the  burden  laid  upon  him;  here  he 
could  remain  as  a  languid  dreamer,  without  a  wish  of  his 
own. 

He  went  out  upon  the  lake  after  the  doctor's  visit,  and 
was  landed  at  a  lonely  point  on  the  pleasant  slope  where  the 
village  of  Saint-Innocent  is  situated.  The  view  from  this 
promontory,  as  one  may  call  it,  comprises  the  heights  of 
Bugey  with  the  Ehone  flowing  at  their  foot,  and  the  end  of 
the  lake ;  but  Eaphael  liked  to  look  at  the  opposite  shore  from 
thence,  at  the  melancholy  looking  Abbey  of  Haute-Combe,  the 
burying-place  of  the  Sardinian  kings,  who  lie  prostrate  there 
before  the  hills,  like  pilgrims  come  at  last  to  their  journey's 
end.  The  silence  of  the  landscape  was  broken  by  the  even 
rh3rthm  of  the  strokes  of  the  oar ;  it  seemed  to  find  a  voice  for 
the  place,  in  monotonous  cadences  like  the  chanting  of  monks. 
The  Marquis  was  surprised  to  find  visitors  to  this  usually 
lonely  part  of  the  lake;  and  as  he  mused,  he  watched  the 
people  seated  in  the  boat,  and  recognized  in  the  stern  the 
elderly  lady  who  had  spoken  so  harshly  to  him  the  evening 
before. 

No  one  took  any  notice  of  Eaphael  as  the  boat  passed, 
except  the  elderly  lady's  companion,  a  poor  old  maid  of  noble 
family,  who  bowed  to  him,  and  whom  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  saw  for  the  first  time.  A  few  seconds  later  he  had  already 
forgotten  the  visitors,  who  had  rapidly  disappeared  behind  the 
promontory,  when  he  heard  the  fluttering  of  a  dress  and  the 
sound  of  light  footsteps  not  far  from  him.  He  turned  about 
and  saw  the  companion ;  and,  guessing  from  her  embarrassed 
manner  that  she  wished  to  speak  with  him,  he  walked  towards 
her. 

She  was  somewhere  about  thirty-six  years  of  age,  thin 
and  tall,  reserved  and  prim,  and,  like  all  old  maids,  seemed 


344  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

puzzled  to  know  which  way  to  look,  an  expression  no  longer 
in  keeping  with  her  measured,  springless,  and  hesitating  steps. 
She  was  both  young  and  old  at  the  same  time,  and,  by  a  cer- 
itain  dignity  in  her  carriage,  showed  the  high  value  which 
she  set  upon  her  charms  and  perfections.  In  addition,  her 
movements  were  all  demure  and  discreet,  like  those  of  women 
who  are  accustomed  to  take  great  care  of  themselves,  no  doubt 
because  they  desire  not  to  be  cheated  of  love,  their  destined 
end. 

"Your  life  is  in  danger,  sir;  do  not  come  to  the  Club 
again !"  she  said,  stepping  back  a  pace  or  two  from  Eaphael, 
as  if  her  reputation  had  been  already  compromised. 

"But,  mademoiselle,"  said  Eaphael,  smiling,  "please 
explain  yourself  more  clearly,  since  you  have  condescended 
so  far " 

"Ah,"  she  answered,  "unless  I  had  had  a  very  strong 
motive,  I  should  never  have  run  the  risk  of  offending  the 
countess,  for  if  she  ever  came  to  know  that  I  had  warned 
you " 

"And  who  would  tell  her,  mademoiselle  ?"  cried  Raphael. 

"True,"  the  old  maid  answered.  She  looked  at  him, 
quaking  like  an  owl  out  in  the  sunlight.  "But  think  of 
yourself,"  she  went  on;  "several  young  men,  who  want  to 
drive  you  away  from  the  baths,  have  agreed  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  you,  and  to  force  you  into  a  duel." 

The  elderly  lady's  voice  sounded  in  the  distance. 

"Mademoiselle,"  began  the  Marquis,  "my  gratitude '* 

But  his  protectress  had  fled  already ;  she  had  heard  the  voice 
of  her  mistress  squeaking  afresh  among  the  rocks. 

"Poor  girl !  unhappiness  always  understands  and  helps  the 
unhappy,"  Raphael  thought,  and  sat  himself  down  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree. 

The  key  of  every  science  is,  beyond  cavil,  the  mark  of  in- 
terrogation; we  owe  most  of  our  greatest  discoveries  to  a 
Why?  and  all  the  wisdom  in  the  world,  perhaps,  consists  in 
asking  Wherefore?  in  every  connection.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  acquired  prescience  is  the  ruip  of  our  illusions. 


THE  AGONY  245^ 

So  Valentin,  having  taken  the  old  maid's  kindly  action  for 
the  text  of  his  wandering  thoughts,  without  the  deliberate 
promptings  of  philosophy,  must  find  it  full  of  gall  and  worm- 
wood. 

"It  is  not  at  all  extraordinary  that  a  gentlewoman's  gen- 
tlewoman should  take  a  fancy  to  me,"  said  he  to  himself.  "I 
am  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  I  have  a  title  and  an  income 
of  two  hundred  thousand  a  year.  But  that  her  mistress,  who 
hates  water  like  a  rabid  cat — for  it  would  be  hard  to  give  the 
palm  to  either  in  that  matter — that  her  mistress  shoidd  have 
brought  her  here  in  a  boat !  Is  not  that  very  strange  and 
wonderful  ?  Those  two  women  came  into  Savoy  to  sleep  like 
marmots;  they  ask  if  day  has  dawned  at  noon;  and  to  think 
that  they  could  get  up  this  morning  before  eight  o'clock,  to 
take  their  chance  in  running  after  me !" 

Very  soon  the  old  maid  and  her  elderly  innocence  became, 
in  his  eyes,  a  fresh  manifestation  of  that  artificial,  malicious 
little  world.  It  was  a  paltry  device,  a  clumsy  artifice,  a  piece 
of  priest's  or  woman's  craft.  Was  the  duel  a  myth,  or  did 
they  merely  want  to  frighten  him  ?  But  these  petty  creatures, 
impudent  and  teasing  as  flies,  had  succeeded  in  wounding  his 
vanity,  in  rousing  his  pride,  and  exciting  his  curiosity.  Un- 
willing to  become  their  dupe,  or  to  be  taken  for  a  coward, 
and  even  diverted  perhaps  by  the  little  drama,  he  went  to  the 
Club  that  very  evening. 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  marble  chimney-piece,  and 
stayed  there  quietly  in  the  middle  of  the  principal  saloon, 
doing  his  best  to  give  no  one  any  advantage  over  him;  but 
he  scrutinized  the  faces  about  him,  and  gave  a  certain  vague 
offence  to  those  assembled,  by  his  inspection.  Like  a  dog 
aware  of  his  strength,  he  awaited  the  contest  on  his  own 
ground,  without  unnecessary  barking.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  evening  he  strolled  into  the  cardroom,  walking  between 
the  door  and  another  that  opened  into  the  billiard-room, 
throwing  a  glance  from  time  to  time  over  a  group  of  young 
men  that  had  gathered  there.  He  heard  his  name  mentioned 
after  a  turn  or  two.       Although  they  lowered  their  voices. 


248  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

Raphael  easily  guessed  that  he  had  become  the  topic  of  their 
debate,  and  he  ended  by  catching  a  phrase  or  two  spoken 
aloud. 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I." 

"I  dare  you  to  do  it  V 

"Let  us  make  a  bet  on  it  V 

"Oh,  he  will  do  it." 

Just  as  Valentin,  curious  to  learn  the  matter  of  the  wager, 
came  up  to  pay  closer  attention  to  what  they  were  saying, 
a  tall,  strong,  good-looking  young  fellow,  who,  however,  pos- 
sessed the  impertinent  stare  peculiar  to  people  who 
have  material  force  at  their  back,  came  out  of  the  billiard- 
room. 

"I  am  deputed,  sir,"  he  said  coolly  addressing  the  Mar- 
quis, "to  make  you  aware  of  something  which  you  do  not 
seem  to  know ;  your  face  and  person  generally  are  a  source  of 
annoyance  to  every  one  here,  and  to  me  in  particular.  You 
have  too  much  politeness  not  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  the  public 
good,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  not  show  yourself  in  the  Club 
again." 

"This  sort  of  joke  has  been  perpetrated  before,  sir,  in  gar- 
rison to^ns  at  the  time  of  the  Empire;  but  nowadays  it  is 
exceedingly  bad  form,"  said  Eaphael  drily. 

"I  am  not  joking,"  the  young  man  answered;  "and  I  re- 
peat it :  your  health  will  be  considerably  the  worse  for  a  stay 
here;  the  heat  and  light,  the  air  of  the  saloon,  and  the 
company  are  all  bad  for  your  complaint." 

"Where  did  you  study  medicine?"  Raphael  inquired. 

"I  took  my  bachelor's  degree  on  Lepage's  shooting-ground 
in  Paris,  and  was  made  a  doctor  at  Cerizier's,  the  king  of 
foils." 

"There  is  one  last  degree  left  for  you  to  take,"  said 
Valentin;  "study  the  ordinary  rules  of  politeness,  and  you 
will  be  a  perfect  gentleman." 

The  young  men  all  came  out  of  the  billiard-room  just  then, 
some  disposed  to  laugh,  some  silent.     The  attention  of  other 


THE  AGONY  247 

players  vas  drawn  to  the  matter;  they  left  their  cards  to 
watch  a  quarrel  that  rejoiced  their  instincts.  Eaphael,  alone 
among  this  hostile  crowd,  did  his  best  to  keep  cool,  and  not 
to  put  himself  in  any  way  in  the  wrong;  but  his  adversary 
having  ventured  a  sarcasm  containing  an  insult  couched  in 
unusually  keen  language,  he  replied  gravely: 

"We  cannot  box  men's  ears,  sir,  in  these  days,  but  I  am  at  a 
loss  for  any  word  by  which  to  stigmatize  such  cowardly  be- 
havior as  yours." 

"That's  enough,  that's  enough.  You  can  come  to  an  ex- 
planation to-morrow,"  several  young  men  exclaimed,  interpos- 
ing between  the  two  champions. 

Raphael  left  the  room  in  the  character  of  aggressor,  after 
he  had  accepted  a  proposal  to  meet  near  the  Chateau  de 
Bordeau,  in  a  little  sloping  meadow,  not  very  far  from  the 
newly  made  road,  by  which  the  man  who  came  off  victorious 
could  reach  Lyons.  Raphael  must  now  either  take  to  his  bed 
or  leave  the  baths.  The  visitors  had  gained  their  point.  At 
eight  o'clock  next  morning  his  antagonist,  followed  by  two 
seconds  and  a  surgeon,  arrived  first  on  the  ground. 

"We  shall  do  very  nicely  here ;  glorious  weather  for  a  duel  V 
he  cried  gaily,  looking  at  the  blue  vault  of  sky  above,  at  the 
waters  of  the  lake,  and  the  rocks,  without  a  single  melancholy 
presentiment  or  doubt  of  the  issue.  "If  I  wing  him,"  he 
went  on,  "I  shall  send  him  to  bed  for  a  month ;  eh,  doctor  ?" 

"At  the  very  least,"  the  surgeon  replied ;  "but  let  that  wil- 
low twig  alone,  or  you  will  weary  your  wrist,  and  then  you 
will  not  fire  steadily.  You  might  kill  your  man  then  instead  of 
wounding  him." 

The  noise  of  a  carriage  was  heard  approaching. 

"Here  he  is,"  said  the  seconds,  who  soon  descried  a  caleche 
coming  along  the  road ;  it  was  drawn  by  four  horses,  and  there 
were  two  postilions. 

*^hat  a  queer  proceeding!"  said  Valentin's  antagonist; 
**here  he  comes  post-haste  to  be  shot." 

The  slightest  incident  about  a  duel,  as  about  a  stake  at 
cards,  makes  an  impression  on  the  minds  of  those  deeply 


848  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

concerned  in  the  results  of  the  affair;  so  the  young  man 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  carriage  with  a  kind  of  uneasiness. 
It  stopped  in  the  road;  old  Jonathan  laboriously  descended 
from  it,  in  the  first  place,  to  assist  Eaphael  to  alight ;  he  sup- 
ported him  with  his  feeble  arms,  and  showed  him  all  the 
minute  attentions  that  a  lover  lavishes  upon  his  mistress. 
Both  became  lost  to  sight  in  the  footpath  that  lay  between 
the  highroad  and  the  field  where  the  duel  was  to  take  place; 
they  were  walking  slowly,  and  did  not  appear  again  for  some 
time  after.  The  four  onlookers  at  this  strange  spectacle  felt 
deeply  moved  by  the  sight  of  Valentin  as  he  leaned  on  his 
servant's  arm;  he  was  wasted  and  pale;  he  limped  as  if  he 
had  the  gout,  went  with  his  head  bowed  down,  and  said  not  a 
word.  You  might  have  taken  them  for  a  couple  of  old  men, 
one  broken  with  years,  the  other  worn  out  with  thought ;  the 
elder  bore  his  age  visibly  written  in  his  white  hair,  the  younger 
was  of  no  age. 

"I  have  not  slept  all  night,  sir;"  so  Eaphael  greeted  his 
antagonist. 

The  icy  tone  and  terrible  glance  that  went  with  the  words 
made  the  real  aggressor  shudder;  he  knew  that  he  was  in 
the  wrong,  and  felt  in  secret  ashamed  of  his  behavior.  There 
was  something  strange  in  Eaphael's  bearing,  tone,  and  ges- 
ture; the  Marquis  stopped,  and  every  one  else  was  likewise 
silent.  The  uneasy  and  constrained  feeling  grew  to  a 
height. 

"There  is  yet  time,"  he  went  on,  "to  offer  me  some  slight 
apology ;  and  offer  it  you  must,  or  j'^ou  will  die,  sir !  You 
rely  even  now  on  your  dexterity,  and  do  not  shrink  from  an 
encounter  in  which  you  believe  all  the  advantage  to  be  upon 
your  side.  Ver}"^  good,  sir;  I  am  generous,  I  am  letting  you 
know  my  superiority  beforehand.  I  possess  a  terrible  power. 
I  have  only  to  wish  to  do  so,  and  I  can  neutralize  your  skill, 
dim  your  eyesight,  make  your  hand  and  pulse  unsteady,  and 
even  kill  j'ou  outright.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  compelled  to 
exercise  my  power;  the  use  of  it  costs  me  too  dear.  You 
would  not  be  the  only  one  to  die.       So  if  you  refuse  to> 


THE  AGONY  249 

apologize  to  me,  no  matter  what  your  experience  in  murder, 
your  ball  will  go  into  the  waterfall  there,  and  mine  will  speed 
straight  to  your  heart  though  I  do  not  aim  it  at  you." 

Confused  voices  interrupted  Eaphael  at  this  point.  All 
the  time  that  he  was  speaking,  the  Marquis  had  kept  his  in- 
tolerably keen  gaze  fixed  upon  his  antagonist;  now  he  drew 
himself  up  and  showed  an  impassive  face,  like  that  of  a 
dangerous  madman. 

"Make  him  hold  his  tongue,'^  the  young  man  had  said  to 
one  of  his  seconds;  "that  voice  of  his  is  tearing  the  heart  out 
of  me." 

"Say  no  more,  sir ;  it  is  quite  useless,"  cried  the  seconds  and 
the  surgeon,  addressing  Eaphael. 

''Gentlemen,  I  am  fulfilling  a  duty.  Has  this  young  gen- 
tleman any  final  arrangements  to  make?" 

"That  is  enough;  that  will  do." 

The  Marquis  remained  standing  steadily,  never  for  a 
moment  losing  sight  of  his  antagonist ;  and  the  latter  seemed, 
like  a  bird  before  a  snake,  to  be  overwhelmed  by  a  well-nigh 
magical  power.  He  was  compelled  to  endure  that  homicidal 
gaze ;  he  met  and  shunned  it  incessantly. 

"I  am  thirsty;  give  me  some  water "  he  said  again  to 

the  second. 

"Are  you  nervous?" 

**Yes,"  he  answered.  "There  is  a  fascination  about  that 
man's  glowing  eyes." 

"Will  you  apologize?" 

"It  is  too  late  now." 

The  two  antagonists  were  placed  at  fifteen  paces'  distance 
from  each  other.  Each  of  them  had  a  brace  of  pistols  at  hand, 
and,  according  to  the  programme  prescribed  for  them,  each 
was  to  fire  twice  when  and  how  he  pleased,  but  after  the 
signal  had  been  given  by  the  seconds.  t 

"What  are  you  doing,  Charles  ?"  exclaimed  the  young  man 
who  acted  as  second  to  Raphael's  antagonist ;  "you  are  putting 
in  the  ball  before  the  powder !" 

"I  am  a  dead  man,"  he  muttered,  by  way  of  answer;  '*yoiii 
have  put  me  facing  the  sun " 


250  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"The  sun  lies  behind  you,"  said  Valentin  sternly  and 
solemnly,  while  he  coolly  loaded  his  pistol  without  heeding 
the  fact  that  the  signal  had  been  given,  or  that  his  antagonist 
was  carefully  taking  aim. 

There  was  something  so  appalling  in  this  supernatural  un- 
concern, that  it  affected  even  the  two  postilions,  brought 
thither  by  a  cruel  curiosity.  Raphael  was  either  trying  his 
power  or  playing  with  it,  for  he  talked  to  Jonathan,  and 
looked  towards  him  as  he  received  his  adversary's  fire. 
Charles'  bullet  broke  a  branch  of  willow,  and  ricocheted  over 
the  surface  of  the  water;  Eaphael  fired  at  random,  and  shot 
his  antagonist  through  the  heart.  He  did  not  heed  the  young 
man  as  he  dropped;  he  hurriedly  sought  the  Magic  Skin 
to  see  what  another  man's  life  had  cost  him.  The  talisman 
was  no  larger  than  a  small  oak-leaf. 

"What  are  you  gaping  at,  you  postilions  over  there  ?  Let 
lis  be  off,"  said  the  Marquis. 

That  same  evening  he  crossed  the  French  border,  im- 
mediately set  out  for  Auvergne,  and  reached  the  springs  of 
Mont  Dore.  As  he  traveled,  there  surged  up  in  his  heart,  all 
at  once,  one  of  those  thoughts  that  come  to  us  as  a  ray  of  sun- 
light pierces  through  the  thick  mists  in  some  dark  valley — a 
sad  enlightenment,  a  pitiless  sagacity  that  lights  up  the  ac- 
complished fact  for  us,  that  lays  our  errors  bare,  and  leaves 
us  without  excuse  in  our  own  eyes.  It  suddenly  struck  him 
that  the  possession  of  power,  no  matter  how  enormous,  did 
not  bring  with  it  the  knowledge  how  to  use  it.  The  sceptre  is  a 
plaything  for  a  child,  an  axe  for  a  Richelieu,  and  for  a 
Napoleon  a  lever  by  which  to  move  the  world.  Power  leaves 
us  just  as  it  finds  us;  only  great  natures  grow  greater  by 
its  means.  Raphael  had  had  everything  in  his  power,  and 
he  had  done  nothing. 

At  the  springs  of  Mont  Dore  he  came  again  in  contact 
with  a  little  world  of  people,  who  invariably  shunned  him  with 
the  eager  haste  that  animals  display  when  they  scent  afar  off 
one  of  their  own  species  lying  dead,  and  flee  away.  The  dis- 
like was  mutual.     His  late  adventure  had  given  him  a  deep 


THE  AGONY  251 

distaste  for  society ;  his  first  care,  consequently,  was  to  find  a 
lodging  at  some  distance  from  the  neighborhood  of  the 
springs.  Instinctively  he  felt  within  him  the  need  of  close 
contact  with  nature,  of  natural  emotions,  and  of  the  vegeta- 
tive life  into  which  we  sink  so  gladly  among  the  fields. 

The  day  after  he  arrived  he  climbed  the  Pic  de  Sancy,  not 
without  difficulty,  and  visited  the  higher  valleys,  the  skyey 
nooks,  undiscovered  lakes,  and  peasants'  huts  about  Mont 
Dore,  a  country  whose  stem  and  wild  features  are  now  be- 
ginning to  tempt  the  brushes  of  our  artists,  for  sometimes 
wonderfully  fresh  and  charming  views  are  to  be  found  there, 
affording  a  strong  contrast  to  the  frowning  brows  of  those 
lonely  hills. 

Barely  a  league  from  the  village  Eaphael  discovered  a  nook 
where  nature  seemed  to  have  taken  a  pleasure  in  hiding  away 
all  her  treasures  like  some  glad  and  mischievous  child. 
At  the  first  sight  of  this  unspoiled  and  picturesque  retreat, 
he  determined  to  take  up  his  abode  in  it.  There,  life  must 
needs  be  peaceful,  natural,  and  fruitful,  like  the  life  of  a 
plant. 

Imagine  for  yourseil  an  inverted  cone  of  granite  hollowed 
out  on  a  large  scale,  a  sort  of  basin  with  its  sides  divided  up 
by  queer  winding  paths.  On  one  side  lay  level  stretches  with  no 
growth  upon  them,  a  bluish  uniform  surface,  over  which  the 
rays  of  the  sun  fell  as  upon  a  mirror ;  on  the  other  lay  cliffs 
split  open  by  fissures  and  frowning  ravines ;  great  blocks  of 
lava  hung  suspended  from  them,  while  the  action  of  rain 
slowly  prepared  their  impending  fall;  a  few  stunted  trees, 
tormented  by  the  wind,  often  crowned  their  summits;  and 
here  and  there  in  some  sheltered  angle  of  their  ramparts  a 
clump  of  chestnut-trees  grew  tall  as  cedars,  or  some  cavern 
in  the  yellowish  rock  showed  the  dark  entrance  into  its  depths, 
set  about  by  flowers  and  brambles,  decked  by  a  little  strip 
of  green  turf. 

At  the  bottom  of  this  cup,  which  perhaps  had  been  the 
crater  of  an  old-world  volcano,  lay  a  pool  of  water  as  pure 
and  bright  as  a  diamond.     Granite  boulders  lay  around  the 


252  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

deep  basin,  and  willows,  mountain-ash  trees,  yellow-flag  lilies, 
and  numberless  aromatic  plants  bloomed  about  it,  in  a  realm 
of  meadow  as  fresh  as  an  English  bowling-green.  The  fine 
soft  grass  was  watered  by  the  streams  that  trickled  through 
the  fissures  in  the  cliffs;  the  soil  was  continually  enriched  by 
the  deposits  of  loam  which  storms  washed  down  from  the 
heights  above.  The  pool  might  be  some  three  acres  in  ex- 
tent; its  shape  was  irregular,  and  the  edges  were  scalloped 
like  the  hem  of  a  dress ;  the  meadow  might  be  an  acre  or  two 
acres  in  extent.  The  cliffs  and  the  water  approached  and  re- 
ceded from  each  other;  here  and  there,  there  was  scarcely 
width  enough  for  the  cows  to  pass  between  them. 

After  a  certain  height  the  plant  life  ceased.  Aloft  in  air 
the  granite  took  upon  itself  the  most  fantastic  shapes,  and  as- 
sumed those  misty  tints  that  give  to  high  mountains  a  dim 
resemblance  to  clouds  in  the  sky.  The  bare,  bleak  cliffs,  with 
the  fearful  rents  in  their  sides,  pictures  of  wild  and  barren 
desolation,  contrasted  strongly  with  the  pretty  view  of  the 
valley ;  and  so  strange  were  the  shapes  they  assumed,  that  one 
of  the  cliffs  had  been  called  "The  Capuchin,^'  because  it  was 
so  like  a  monk.  Sometimes  these  sharp-pointed  peaks,  these 
mighty  masses  of  rock,  and  airy  caverns  were  lighted  up  one 
by  one,  according  to  the  direction  of  the  sun  or  the  caprices 
of  the  atmosphere;  they  caught  gleams  of  gold,  dyed  them- 
selves in  purple ;  took  a  tint  of  glowing  rose-color,  or  turned 
dull  and  gray.  Upon  the  heights  a  drama  of  color  was  al- 
ways to  be  seen,  a  play  of  ever-shifting  iridescent  hues  like 
those  on  a  pigeon's  breast. 

Oftentimes  at  sunrise  or  at  sunset  a  ray  of  bright  sunlight 
would  penetrate  between  two  sheer  surfaces  of  lava,  that 
might  have  been  split  apart  by  a  hatchet,  to  the  very  depths  of 
that  pleasant  little  garden,  where  it  would  play  in  the  waters 
of  the  pool,  like  a  beam  of  golden  light  which  gleams  through 
the  chinks  of  a  shutter  into  a  room  in  Spain,  that  has  been 
carefully  darkened  for  a  siesta.  When  the  sun  rose  above  the 
old  crater  that  some  antediluvian  revolution  had  filled  with 
water,  its  rocky  sides  took  warmer  tones,  the  extinct  volcano 


THE  AGONr  253 

glowed  again,  and  its  sudden  heat  quickened  the  sprouting 
seeds  and  vegetation,  gave  color  to  the  flowers,  and  ripened 
the  fruits  of  this  forgotten  comer  of  the  earth. 

As  Eaphael  reached  it,  he  noticed  several  cows  grazing  in 
the  pasture-land ;  and  when  he  had  taken  a  few  steps  towards 
the  water,  he  saw  a  little  house  built  of  granite  and  roofedi 
with  shingle  in  the  spot  where  the  meadowland  was  at  its^ 
widest.  The  roof  of  this  little  cottage  harmonized  with  every- 
thing about  it ;  for  it  had  long  been  overgrown  with  ivy,  moss, 
and  flowers  of  no  recent  date.  A  thin  smoke,  that  did  not 
scare  the  birds  away,  went  up  from  the  dilapidated  chimney. 
There  was  a  great  bench  at  the  door  between  two  huge  honey- 
suckle bushes,  that  were  pink  with  blossom  and  full  of  scent. 
The  walls  could  scarcely  be  seen  for  branches  of  vine  and 
sprays  of  rose  and  jessamine  that  interlaced  and  grew  entirely 
as  chance  and  their  own  will  bade  them;  for  the  inmates 
of  the  cottage  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  the  growth  which 
adorned  their  house,  and  to  take  no  care  of  it,  leaving  to  it  the 
fresh  capricious  charm  of  nature. 

Some  clothes  spread  out  on  the  gooseberry  bushes  were  dry- 
ing in  the  sun.  A  cat  was  sitting  on  a  machine  for  stripping 
hemp;  beneath  it  lay  a  newly  scoured  brass  caldron,  among 
a  quantity  of  potato-parings.  On  the  other  side  of  the  house 
Eaphael  saw  a  sort  of  barricade  of  dead  thorn-bushes,  meant 
no  doubt  to  keep  the  poultry  from  scratching  up  the  vegetables 
and  pot-herbs.  It  seemed  like  the  end  of  the  earth.  The  dwell- 
ing was  like  some  bird's-nest  ingeniously  set  in  a  cranny  of 
the  rocks,  a  clever  and  at  the  same  time  a  careless  bit  of  work- 
manship. A  simple  and  kindly  nature  lay  round  about  it ;  its 
rusticity  was  genuine,  but  there  was  a  charm  like  that  of 
poetry  in  it ;  for  it  giew  and  throve  at  a  thousand  miles'  dis- 
tance from  our  elaborate  and  conventional  poetry.  It  was 
like  none  of  our  conceptions ;  it  was  a  spontaneous  growth,  a 
masterpiece  due  to  chance. 

As  Eaphael  reached  the  place,  the  sunlight  fell  across  it 
from  right  to  left,  bringing  atit  all  the  colors  of  its  plants  and 
trees;  the  yellowish  or  gray  bases  of  the  crags,  the  different 


254  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

shades  of  the  green  leaves,  the  masses  of  flowers,  pink,  blue,  or 
white,  the  climbing  plants  with  their  bell-like  blossoms,  and 
the  shot  velvet  of  the  mosses,  the  purple-tinted  blooms  of  the 
heather, — everything  was  either  brought  into  relief  or  made 
fairer  yet  by  the  enchantment  of  the  light  or  by  the  contrast- 
ing shadows ;  and  this  was  the  case  most  of  all  with  the  sheet 
of  water,  wherein  the  house,  the  trees,  the  granite  peaks,  and 
the  sky  were  all  faithfully  reflected.  Everything  had  a  radi- 
ance of  its  own  in  this  delightful  picture,  from  the  sparkling 
mica-stone  to  the  bleached  tuft  of  grass  hidden  away  in  the 
soft  shadows ;  the  spotted  cow  with  its  glossy  hide,  the  delicate 
water-plants  that  hung  down  over  the  pool  like  fringes  in  a 
nook  where  blue  or  emerald  colored  insects  were  buzzing 
about,  the  roots  of  trees  like  a  sand-besprinkled  shock  of  hair 
above  grotesque  faces  in  the  flinty  rock  surface, — all  these 
things  made  a  harmony  for  the  eye. 

The  odor  of  the  tepid  water;  the  scent  of  the  flowers,  and 
the  breath  of  the  caverns  which  filled  the  lonely  place,  gave 
Eaphael  a  sensation  that  was  almost  enjoyment.  Silence 
reigned  in  majesty  over  these  woods,  which  possibly  are  un- 
known to  the  tax-collector;  but  the  barking  of  a  couple  of 
dogs  broke  the  stillness  all  at  once;  the  cows  turned  their 
heads  towards  the  entrance  of  the  valley,  showing  their  moist 
noses  to  Eaphael,  stared  stupidly  at  him,  and  then  fell  to 
browsing  again.  A  goat  and  her  kid,  that  seemed  to  hang  on 
the  side  of  the  crags  in  some  magical  fashion,  capered  and 
leapt  to  a  slab  of  granite  near  to  Eaphael,  and  stayed  there 
a  moment,  as  if  to  seek  to  know  who  he  was.  The  yapping  of 
the  dogs  brought  out  a  plump  child,  who  stood  agape,  and 
next  came  a  white-haired  old  man  of  middle  height.  Both  of 
these  two  beings  were  in  keeping  with  the  surroundings,  the 
air,  the  flowers,  and  the  dwelling.  Health  appeared  to  over- 
flow in  this  fertile  region;  old  age  and  childhood  thrived  there. 
There  seemed  to  be,  about  all  these  types  of  existence,  the 
freedom  and  carelessness  of  the  life  of  primitive  times,  a  hap- 
piness of  use  and  wont  that  gave  the  lie  to  our  philosophical 
platitudes,  and  wrought  a  cure  of  all  its  swelling  passions  in 
the  heart. 


THE  AGONY  255 

The  old  man  belonged  to  the  type  of  model  dear  to  the 
masculine  brush  of  Schnetz.  The  countless  wrinkles  upon  his 
brown  face  looked  as  if  they  would  be  hard  to  the  touch ;  the 
straight  nose,  the  prominent  cheek-bones,  streaked  with  red 
veins  like  a  vine-leaf  in  autumn,  the  angular  features,  all 
were  characteristics  of  strength,  even  where  strength  existed 
no  longer.  The  hard  hands,  now  that  they  toiled  no  longer, 
had  preserved  their  scanty  white  hair ;  his  bearing  was  that  of 
an  absolutely  free  man ;  it  suggested  the  thought  that,  had  he 
been  an  Italian,  he  would  have  perhaps  turned  brigand,  for 
the  love  of  the  liberty  so  dear  to  him.  The  child  was  a  regular 
mountaineer,  with  the  black  eyes  that  can  face  the  sun  with- 
out flinching,  a  deeply  tanned  complexion,  and  rough  brown 
hair.  His  movements  were  like  a  bird's — swift,  decided,  and 
unconstrained;  his  clothing  was  ragged;  the  white,  fair  skin 
showed  through  the  rents  in  his  garments.  There  they  both 
stood  in  silence,  side  by  side,  both  obeying  the  same  impulse ; 
in  both  faces  were  clear  tokens  of  an  absolutely  identical 
and  idle  life.  The  old  man  had  adopted  the  child's  amuse- 
ments, and  the  child  had  fallen  in  with  the  old  man's  humor; 
there  was  a  sort  of  tacit  agreement  between  two  kinds  of  fee- 
bleness, between  failing  powers  well-nigh  spent  and  powers 
just  about  to  unfold  themselves. 

Very  soon  a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  about  thirty  years 
old  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  spinning  as  she 
came.  She  was  an  Auvergnate,  a  high-colored,  comfortable- 
looking,  straightforward  sort  of  person,  with  white  teeth ;  her 
cap  and  dress,  the  face,  full  figure,  and  general  appearance, 
were  of  the  Auvergne  peasant  stamp.  So  was  her  dialect; 
she  was  a  thorough  embodiment  of  her  district;  its  hard- 
working ways,  its  thrift,  ignorance,  and  heartiness  all  met  in 
her. 

She  greeted  Raphael,  and  they  began  to  talk.  The  dogs 
quieted  down;  the  old  man  went  and  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
Bun;  the  child  followed  his  mother  about  wherever  she  went, 
listening  without  saying  a  word,  and  staring  at  the  stranger. 

'TTou  are  not  afraid  to  live  here,  good  woman  V* 


256  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

''What  should  we  be  afraid  of,  sir?  When  we  bolt  the 
door^  who  ever  could  get  inside?  Oh,  no,  we  aren't  afraid 
at  all.  And  besides,"  she  said,  as  she  brought  the  Marquis 
into  the  principal  room  in  the  house,  "what  should  thieves 
come  to  take  from  us  here?" 

She  designated  the  room  as  she  spoke;  the  smoke- 
blackened  walls,  with  some  brilliant  pictures  in  blue,  red,  and 
green,  an  "End  of  Credit,"  a  Crucifixion,  and  the  "Grenadiers 
of  the  Imperial  Guard"  for  their  sole  ornament;  the  furni- 
ture here  and  there,  the  old  wooden  four-post  bedstead,  the 
table  with  crooked  legs,  a  few  stools,  the  chest  that  held 
the  bread,  the  flitch  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  a  jar  of  salt, 
a  stove,  and  on  the  mantelshelf  a  few  discolored  yellow  plaster 
figures.  As  he  went  out  again  Raphael  noticed  a  man  half- 
way up  the  crags,  leaning  on  a  hoe,  and  watching  the  house 
with  interest. 

"That's  my  man,  sir,"  said  the  Auvergnate,  unconsciously 
smiling  in  peasant  fashion;  "he  is  at  work  up  there." 

"And  that  old  man  is  your  father?" 

"Asking  your  pardon,  sir,  he  is  my  man's  grandfather. 
Such  as  you  see  him,  he  is  a  hundred  and  two,  and  yet  quite 
lately  he  walked  over  to  Clermont  with  our  little  chap !  Oh, 
he  has  been  a  strong  man  in  his  time;  but  he  does  nothing 
now  but  sleep  and  eat  and  drink.  He  amuses  himself  with 
the  little  fellow.  Sometimes  the  child  trails  him  up  the  hill- 
sides, and  he  will  just  go  up  there  along  with  him." 

Valentin  made  up  his  mind  immediately.  He  would  live 
between  this  child  and  old  man,  breathe  the  same  air;  eat 
their  bread,  drink  the  same  water,  sleep  with  them,  make  the 
blood  in  his  veins  like  theirs.  It  was  a  dying  man's  fancy. 
For  him  the  prime  model,  after  which  the  customary  existence 
of  the  individual  should  be  shaped,  the  real  formula  for  the 
Kfe  of  a  human  being,  the  only  true  and  possible  life,  the 
life-ideal,  was  to  become  one  of  the  oysters  adhering  to  this 
rock,  to  save  his  shell  a  day  or  two  longer  by  paralyzing  the 
power  of  death.  One  profoundly  selfish  thought  took  pos- 
eession  of  him,  and  the  whole  uniTerse  was  swallowed  up  and 


Raphael  hurriedly  sought  the  Magic  Skiu  to  see  what  another  man's 

life  had  cost  him 


THE  AGONY  .  257 

lost  in  it.  For  him  the  universe  existed  no  longer ;  the  whole 
world  had  come  to  be  within  himself.  For  the  sick,  the  world 
begins  at  their  pillow  and  ends  at  the  foot  of  the  bed;  and 
this  countryside  was  Raphael's  sick-bed. 

Who  has  not,  at  some  time  or  other  in  his  life,  watched  the 
comings  and  goings  of  an  ant,  slipped  straws  into  a  yellow 
slug's  one  breathing-hole,  studied  the  vagaries  of  a  slender 
dragon-fly,  pondered  admiringly  over  the  countless  veins  in 
an  oak-leaf,  that  bring  the  colors  of  a  rose  window  in  some 
Gothic  cathedral  into  contrast  with  the  reddish  background  ? 
Who  has  not  looked  long  in  delight  at  the  effects  of  sun  and 
rain  on  a  roof  of  brown  tiles,  at  the  dewdrops,  or  at  the 
variously  shaped  petals  of  the  flower-cups  ?  Who  has  not  sunk 
into  these  idle,  absorbing  meditations  on  tilings  without,  that 
have  no  conscious  end,  yet  lead  to  some  definite  thought  at 
last?  Who,  in  short,  has  not  led  a  lazy  life,  the  life  of 
childhood,  the  life  of  the  savage  without  his  labor?  This 
life  without  a  care  or  a  wish,  Raphael  led  for  some  days' 
space.  He  felt  a  distinct  improvement  in  his  condition,  a 
wonderful  sense  of  ease,  that  quieted  his  apprehensions  and 
soothed  his  sufferings. 

He  would  climb  the  crags,  and  then  find  a  seat  high  up  on 
some  peak  whence  he  could  see  a  vast  expanse  of  distant 
country  at  a  glance,  and  he  would  spend  whole  days  in  this 
way,  like  a  plant  in  the  sun,  or  a  hare  in  its  form.  And  at 
last,  growing  familiar  with  the  appearances  of  the  plant-life 
about  him,  and  of  the  changes  in  the  sky,  he  minutely  noted 
the  progress  of  everything  working  around  him  in  the  water, 
on  the  earth,  or  in  the  air.  He  tried  to  share  the  secret 
impulses  of  nature,  sought  by  passive  obedience  to  become 
a  part  of  it,  and  to  lie  within  the  conservative  and  despotic 
jurisdiction  that  regulates  instinctive  existence.  He  no 
longer  wished  to  steer  his  own  course. 

Just  as  criminals  in  olden  times  were  safe  from  the  pursuit 
of  justice,  if  they  took  refuge  under  the  shadow  of  the  altar, 
so  Raphael  made  an  effort  to  slip  into  the  sanctuary  of  life. 
He  succeeded  in  becoming  an  integral  part  of  the  great  and 

17 


258  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

migLty  fruit-producing  organization ;  he  had  adapted  himself 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  air,  and  had  dwelt  in  every  cave 
among  the  rocks.  He  had  learned  the  ways  and  habits  of 
growth  of  every  plant,  had  studied  the  laws  of  the  water- 
courses and  their  beds,  and  had  come  to  know  the  animals; 
he  was  at  last  so  perfectly  at  one  with  this  teeming  earth, 
that  he  had  in  some  sort  discerned  its  mysteries  and  caught 
the  spirit  of  it. 

The  infinitely  varied  forms  of  every  natural  kingdom  were, 
to  his  thinking,  only  developments  of  one  and  the  same  sub- 
stance, different  combinations  brought  about  by  the  same  im- 
pulse, endless  emanations  from  a  measureless  Being  which 
was  acting,  thinking,  moving,  and  growing,  and  in  harmony 
with  which  he  longed  to  grow,  to  move,  to  think,  and  act. 
He  had  fancifully  blended  his  life  with  the  life  of  the  crags ; 
he  had  deliberately  planted  himself  there.  During  the 
earliest  days  of  his  sojourn  in  these  pleasant  surroundings, 
Valentin  tasted  all  the  pleasures  of  childhood  again,  thanks  to 
the  strange  hallucination  of  apparent  convalescence,  which 
is  not  unlike  the  pauses  of  delirium  that  nature  mercifully 
provides  for  those  in  pain.  He  went  about  making  trifling  dis- 
coveries, setting  to  work  on  endless  things,  and  finishing  none 
of  them ;  the  evening's  plans  were  quite  forgotten  in  the  morn- 
ing; he  had  no  cares,  he  was  happy;  he  thought  himself 
saved. 

One  morning  he  had  lain  in  bed  till  noon,  deep  in  the 
dreams  between  sleep  and  waking,  which  give  to  realities  a 
fantastic  appearance,  and  make  the  wildest  fancies  seem  solid 
facts ;  while  he  was  still  uncertain  that  he  was  not  dreaming 
yet,  he  suddenly  heard  his  hostess  giving  a  report  of  his  health 
to  Jonathan,  for  the  first  time.  Jonathan  came  to  inquire 
after  him  daily,  and  the  Auvergnate,  thinking  no  doubt  that 
Valentin  was  still  asleep,  had  not  lowered  the  tones  of  a  voice 
developed  in  mountain  air. 

"No  better  and  no  worse,^'  she  said.  "He  coughed  all  last 
night  again  fit  to  kill  himself.  Poor  gentleman,  he  coughs 
and  spits  till  it  is  piteous.     My  husband  and  I  often  wonder 


THE  AGONY  259 

fo  each  other  where  he  gets  the  strength  from  to  cough  like 
that  It  goes  to  your  heart.  What  a  cursed  complaint  it 
is  I  He  has  no  strength  at  all.  I  am  always  afraid  I  shall 
find  him  dead  in  his  bed  some  morning.  He  is  every  bit  as 
pale  as  a  waxen  Christ.  Dame!  I  watch  him  while  he 
dresses;  his  poor  body  is  as  thin  as  a  nail.  And  he  does 
not  feel  well  now;  but  no  matter.  It's  all  the  same;  he 
wears  himself  out  with  running  about  as  if  he  had  health  and 
to  spare.  All  the  same,  he  is  very  brave,  for  he  never  com- 
plains at  all.  But  really  he  would  be  better  under  the 
earth  than  on  it,  for  he  is  enduring  the  agonies  of  Christ. 
I  don't  wish  that  myself,  sir ;  it  is  quite  against  our  interests ; 
but  even  it  he  didn't  pay  us  what  he  does,  I  should  be 
just  as  fond  of  him;  it  is  not  our  own  interest  that  is  our 
motive." 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu !"  she  continued,  "Parisians  are  the 
people  for  these  dogs'  diseases.  Where  did  he  catch 
it,  now?  Poor  young  man!  And  he  is  so  sure  that  he 
is  going  to  get  well !  That  fever  just  gnaws  him,  you  know ; 
it  eats  him  away;  it  will  be  the  death  of  him.  He  has  no 
notion  whatever  of  that;  he  does  not  know  it,  sir;  he  sees 

nothing You  mustn't  cry  about  him,  M.  Jonathan ;  you 

must  remember  that  he  will  be  happy,  and  will  not  suffer 
any  more.  You  ought  to  make  a  neuvaine  for  him;  I  have 
seen  wonderful  cures  come  of  a  nine  days'  prayer,  and  I 
would  gladly  pay  for  a  wax  taper  to  save  such  a  gentle  crea- 
ture, so  good  he  is,  a  paschal  lamb " 

As  Eaphael's  voice  had  grown  too  weak  to  allow  him  to 
make  himself  heard,  he  was  compelled  to  listen  to  this  horrible 
loquacity.  His  irritation,  however,  drove  him  out  of  bed  at 
length,  and  he  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

"Old  scoundrel !"  he  shouted  to  Jonathan ;  "do  you  mean 
to  put  me  to  death  ?" 

The  peasant  woman  took  him  for  a  ghost,  and  fled. 

"I  forbid  you  to  have  any  anxiety  whatever  about  my 
health,"  Raphael  went  on. 

"Yes,  my  Lord  Marquis,"  said  the  old  servant,  wiping 
away  his  tears. 


200  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

"And  for  the  future  you  had  very  much  bottci  ,iot  come 
here  without  my  orders/' 

Jonathan  meant  to  be  obedient,  but  in  the  look  :  ell  of  pity 
and  devotion  that  he  gave  the  Marquis  before  he  went, 
Eaphael  read  his  own  death-warrant.  Utterly  disheartened, 
brought  all  at  once  to  a  sense  of  his  real  position  Valentin 
sat  down  on  the  threshold,  locked  his  arms  across  his  chest, 
and  bowed  his  head.  Jonathan  turned  to  his  mastex  in  alarm, 
with  "My  Lord " 

"Go  away,  go  away,''  cried  the  invalid. 

In  the  hours  of  the  next  morning,  Eaphael  climbed  the 
crags,  and  sat  down  in  a  mossy  cleft  in  the  rocks,  whence  he 
could  see  the  narrow  path  along  which  the  water  for  the 
dwelling  was  carried.  At  the  base  of  the  hill  he  saw 
Jonathan  in  conversation  with  the  Auvergnate.  Some 
malicious  power  interpreted  for  him  all  the  woman's  head- 
shakings,  melancholy  gestures,  and  garrulous  forebodings, 
and  filled  the  breeze  and  the  silence  with  her  ominous  words. 
Thrilled  with  horror,  he  took  refuge  among  the  highest  sum- 
mits of  the  mountains,  and  stayed  there  till  the  evening ;  but 
yet  he  could  not  drive  away  the  gloomy  presentiments , 
awakened  within  him  in  such  an  unfortunate  manner  by  a 
cruel  solicitude  on  his  account. 

The  Auvergne  peasant  herself  suddenly  appeared  before 
him  like  a  shadow  in  the  dusk ;  a  perverse  freak  of  the  poet 
within  him  found  a  vague  resemblance  between  her  black  and 
white  striped  petticoat  and  the  bony  frame  of  a  spectre. 

"The  damp  is  falling  now,  sir,"  said  she.  "If  you  stop  out 
there,  you  will  go  off  just  like  rotten  fruit.  You  must 
come  in.  It  isn't  healthy  to  breathe  the  damp,  and  you  have 
taken  nothing  since  the  morning,  besides." 

"Tonnerre  de  Dieu!  old  witch,"  he  cried;  "let  me  live  after 
my  own  fashion,  I  tell  you,  or  I  shall  be  off  altogether.  It 
is  quite  bad  enough  to  dig  my  grave  every  morning;  you 
might  let  it  alone  in  the  evenings  at  least " 

"Your  grave,  sir !  I  dig  your  grave ! — and  where  may 
your  grave  be  ?    I  want  to  see  you  as  old  as  father  there,  and 


THE  AGONY  261 

not  in  your  grave  by  any  manner  of  means.       The  grave! 
that  comes  soon  enough  for  us  all ;  in  the  grave " 

"That  is  enough/'  said  Raphael. 

*'Take  my  arm,  sir." 

"No." 

The  feeling  of  pity  in  others  is  very  difficult  for  a  man  tc 
bear,  and  it  is  hardest  of  all  when  the  pity  is  deserved. 
Hatred  is  a  tonic — it  quickens  life  and  stimulates  revenge; 
but  pity  is  death  to  us — it  makes  our  weakness  weaker  still. 
It  is  as  if  distress  simpered  ingratiatingly  at  us;  contempt 
lurks  in  the  tenderness,  or  tenderness  in  an  affront.  In  the 
centenarian  Eaphael  saw  triumphant  pity,  a  wondering  pity 
in  the  child's  eyes,  an  officious  pity  in  the  woman,  and  iti  her 
husband  a  pity  that  had  an  interested  motive;  but  no  matter 
how  the  sentiment  declared  itself,  death  was  always  its  im- 
port. 

A  poet  makes  a  poem  of  everything ;  it  is  tragical  or  Joyful, 
as  things  happen  to  strike  his  imagination;  his  lofty  soul 
rejects  all  half-tones;  he  always  prefers  vivid  and  decided 
colors.  In  Eaphael's  soul  this  compassion  produced  a  terrible 
poem  of  mourning  and  melancholy.  When  he  had  wished 
to  live  in  close  contact  with  nature,  he  had  of  course  for- 
gotten how  freely  natural  emotions  are  expressed.  He  would 
think  himself  quite  alone  under  a  tree,  whilst  he  struggled, 
with  an  obstinate  coughing  fit,  a  terrible  combat  from  which 
he  never  issued  victorious  without  utter  exhaustion  after- 
wards ;  and  then  he  would  meet  the  clear,  bright  eyes  of  the 
little  boy,  ,who  occupied  the  post  of  sentinel,  like  a  savage 
in  a  bent  of  grass;  the  eyes  scrutinized  him  with  a  childish 
wonder,  in  which  there  was  as  much  amusement  as  pleasure, 
^nd  an  indescribable  mixture  of  indifference  and  interest. 
The  awful  Brother,  you  must  die,  of  the  Trappists  seemed 
constantly  legible  in  the  eyes  of  the  peasants  with  whom 
Eaphael  was  living;  he  scarcely  knew  which  he  dreaded 
most,  their  unfettered  talk  or  their  silence ;  their  presence  be- 
came torture. 

One  morning  he  saw  two  men  in  black  prowling  about  in 


262  THE  MAOIC  SKIN 

his  neighborhood,  who  furtively  studied  him  and  took  ob- 
servations. They  made  as  though  they  had  come  there  for 
a  stroll,  and  asked  him  a  few  indifferent  questions,  to  which 
he  returned  short  answers.  He  recognized  them  both.  One 
was  the  cure  and  the  other  the  doctor  at  the  springs ;  Jonathan 
had  no  doubt  sent  them,  or  the  people  in  the  house  had  called 
them  in,  or  the  scent  of  an  approaching  death  had  drawn 
them  thither.  He  beheld  his  own  funeral,  heard  the  chanting 
of  the  priests,  and  counted  the  tall  wax  candles ;  and  all  that 
lovely  fertile  nature  around  him,  in  whose  lap  he  had  thought 
to  find  life  once  more,  he  saw  no  longer,  save  through  a  veil 
of  crape.  Everything  that  but  lately  had  spoken  of  length 
of  days  to  him,  now  prophesied  a  speedy  end.  He  set  out 
the  next  day  for  Paris,  not  before  he  had  been  inundated  with 
cordial  wishes,  which  the  people  of  the  house  uttered  in 
melancholy  and  wistful  tones  for  his  benefit. 

He  traveled  through  the  night,  and  awoke  as  they  passed 
through  one  of  the  pleasant  valleys  of  the  Bourbonnais. 
View  after  view  swam  before  his  gaze,  and  passed  rapidly 
away  like  the  vague  pictures  of  a  dream.  Cruel  nature  spread 
herself  out  before  his  eyes  with  tantalizing  grace.  Sometimes 
the  Allier,  a  liquid  shining  ribbon,  meandered  through  the 
distant  fertile  landscape ;  then  followed  the  steeples  of  ham- 
lets, hiding  modestly  in  the  depths  of  a  ravine  with  its  yellow 
cliffs ;  sometimes,  after  the  monotony  of  vineyards,  the  water- 
mills  of  a  little  valley  would  be  suddenly  seen;  and  every- 
where there  were  pleasant  chateaux,  hillside  villages,  roads 
with  their  fringes  of  queenly  poplars;  and  the  Loire  itself,  at 
last,  with  its  wide  sheets  of  water  sparkling  like  diamonds 
amid  its  golden  sands.  Attractions  everywhere,  without  end ! 
This  nature,  all  astir  with  a  life  and  gladness  like  that  of 
childhood,  scarcely  able  to  contain  the  impulses  and  sap  of 
June,  nossessed  a  fatal  attraction  for  the  darkened  gaze  of 
the  invalid.  He  drew  the  blinds  of  his  carriage  windows, 
and  betook  himself  again  to  slumber. 

Towards  evening,  after  they  had  passed  Cesne,  he  was 
awakened  by  lively  music,  and  found  himself  confronted  with 


THE  AGONY  263 

a  village  fair.  The  horses  were  changed  near  the  market-  - 
place.  Whilst  the  postilions  were  engaged  in  making  the 
transfer,  he  saw  the  people  dancing  merrily,  pretty  and  at- 
tractive girls  with  flowers  about  them,  excited  youths,  and 
finally  the  jolly  wine-flushed  countenances  of  old  peasants. 
Children  prattled,  old  women  laughed  and  chatted;  every- 
thing spoke  in  one  voice,  and  there  was  a  holiday  gaiety 
about  everything,  down  to  their  clothing  and  the  tables  that 
were  set  out.  A  cheerful  expression  pervaded  the  square 
and  the  church,  the  roofs  and  windows;  even  the  yery  door- 
ways of  the  village  seemed  likewise  to  be  in  holiday  trim. 

Raphael  could  not  repress  an  angry  exclamation,  nor  yet 
a  wish  to  silence  the  fiddles,  annihilate  the  stir  and  bustle, 
stop  the  clamor,  and  disperse  the  ill-timed  festival;  like  a 
dying  man,  he  felt  unal^e  to  endure  the  slightest  sound,  and 
he  entered  his  carriage  much  annoyed.  When  he  looked  out 
upon  the  square  from  the  window,  he  saw  that  all  the  happi- 
ness was  scared  away ;  the  peasant  women  were  in  flight,  and 
the  benches  were  deserted.  Only  a  blind  musician,  on  the 
scaffolding  of  the  orchestra,  went  on  playing  a  shrill  tune  on 
his  clarionet.  That  piping  of  his,  without  dancers  to  it, 
and  the  solitary  old  man  himself,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
lime-tree,  with  his  curmudgeon's  face,  scanty  hair,  and  ragged 
clothing,  was  like  a  fantastic  picture  of  Eaphael's  wish.  The 
heavy  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents;  it  was  one  of  those 
thunderstorms  that  June  brings  about  so  rapidl}--,  to  cease 
as  suddenly.  The  thing  was  so  natural,  that,  when  Eaphael 
had  looked  out  and  seen  some  pale  clouds  driven  over  by  a 
gust  of  wind,  he  did  not  think  of  looking  at  the  piece  of  skin. 
He  lay  back  again  in  the  comer  of  his  carriage,  which  was 
very  soon  rolling  upon  its  way. 

The  next  day  found  him  back  in  his  home  again,  in  his 
own  room,  beside  his  own  fireside.  He  had  had  a  large  fire 
lighted;  he  felt  cold.  Jonathan  brought  him  some  letters; 
they  were  all  from  Pauline.  He  opened  the  first  one  without 
any  eagerness,  and  unfolded  it  as  if  it  had  been  the  gray- 


264  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

paper  form  of  application  for  taxes  made  by  the  revenue  col- 
lector.    He  read  the  first  sentence : 

"Gone !  This  really  is  a  flight,  my  Eaphael.  How  it  is  ? 
No  one  can  tell  me  where  you  are.  And  who  should  know  if 
not  I  ?" 

He  did  not  wish  to  learn  any  more.  He  calmly  took  up  the 
letters  and  threw  them  in  the  fire,  watching  with  dull  and 
lifeless  eyes  the  perfumed  paper  as  it  was  twisted,  shriveled, 
bent,  and  devoured  by  the  capricious  flames.  Fragments  that 
fell  among  the  ashes  allowed  him  to  see  the  beginning  of  a 
sentence,  or  a  half-burnt  thought  or  word ;  he  took  a  pleasure 
in  deciphering  them — a  sort  of  mechanical  amusement. 

"Sitting  at  your  door — expected — Caprice — I  obey — Eivals 
— I,  never! — thy  Pauline — love — no  more  of  Pauline? — If 
you  had  wished  to  leave  me  for  ever,  you  would  not  have 
deserted  me — Love  eternal — To  die " 

The  words  caused  him  a  sort  of  remorse;  he  seized  the 
tongs,  and  rescued  a  last  fragment  of  the  letter  from 
the  flames. 

"I  have  murmured,"  so  Pauline  wrote,  "but  I  have  never 
complained,  my  Eaphael !  If  you  have  left  me  so  far  behind 
you,  it  was  doubtless  because  you  wished  to  hide  some  heavy 
grief  from  me.  Perhaps  you  will  kill  me  one  of  these  days, 
but  you  are  too  good  to  torture  me.  So  do  not  go  away  from 
me  like  this.  There !  I  can  bear  the  worst  of  torment,  if 
only  I  am  at  your  side.  Any  grief  that  you  could  cause  me 
would  not  be  grief.  There  is  far  more  love  in  my  heart 
for  you  than  I  have  ever  yet  shown  you.  I  can  endure  any- 
thing, except  this  weeping  far  away  from  you,  this  ignorance 
of  your " 

Eaphael  laid  the  scorched  scrap  on  the  mantelpiece,  then 
all  at  once  he  flung  it  into  the  fire.  The  bit  of  paper  was 
too  clearly  a  symbol  of  his  own  love  and  luckless  existence. 

"Go  and  find  M.  Bianchon,"  he  told  Jonathan. 

Horace  came  and  found  Eaphael  in  bed. 

"Can  you  prescribe  a  draught  for  me — some  mild  opiate 
which    will    always    keep    me    in    a    somnolent    condition. 


THE  AGONY  265 

a,  draught  that  will  not  be  injurious  although  taken  con- 
stantly." 

"Nothing  is  easier,"  the  young  doctor  replied;  'Taut  you 
will  have  to  keep  on 'your  feet  for  a  few  hours  daily,  at  any 
rate,  so  as  to  take  your  food." 

"A  few  hours !"  Eaphael  broke  in ;  "no,  no !  I  only  wish 
to  be  out  of  bed  for  an  hour  at  most." 

"What  is  your  object  ?"  inquired  Bianchon. 

"To  sleep ;  for  so  one  keeps  alive,  at  any  rate,"  the  patient 
answered.  "Let  no  one  come  in,  not  even  Mile.  Pauline  de 
Wistchnau  !"  he  added  to  Jonathan,  as  the  doctor  was  writing 
out  his  prescription. 

"Well,  M.  Horace,  is  there  any  hope?"  the  old  servant 
asked,  going  as  far  as  the  flight  of  steps  before  the  door, 
with  the  young  doctor. 

"He  may  live  for  some  time  yet,  or  he  may  die  to-night. 
The  chances  of  life  and  death  are  evenly  balanced  in  his 
case.  I  can't  understand  it  at  all,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a 
doubtful  gesture.     "His  mind  ought  to  be  diverted." 

"Diverted !  Ah,  sir,  you  don't  know  him !  He  killed  a 
man  the  other  day  without  a  word! — Nothing  can  divert 
him !" 

For  some  days  Eaphael  lay  plunged  in  the  torpor  of  this 
artificial  sleep.  Thanks  to  the  material  power  that  opium 
exerts  over  the  immaterial  part  of  us,  this  man  with  the 
powerful  and  active  imagination  reduced  himself  to  the  level 
of  those  sluggish  forms  of  animal  life  that  lurk  in  the  depths 
of  forests,  and  take  the  form  of  vegetable  refuse,  never 
stirring  from  their  place  to  catch  their  easy  prey.  He  had 
darkened  the  very  sun  in  heaven;  the  daylight  never  entered 
his  room.  About  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  would  leave 
his  bed,  with  no  very  clear  consciousness  of  his  own  existence ; 
he  would  satisfy  the  claims  of  hunger  and  return  to  bed  im- 
mediately. One  dull  blighted  hour  after  another  only 
brought  confused  pictures  and  appearances  before  him,  and 
lights  and  shadows  against  a  background  of  darkness. 
He  lay  buried  in  deep  silence;  movement  and  intelligence 


266  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

were  completely  anniliilated  for  him.  He  woke  later  than 
usual  one  evening,  and  found  that  his  dinner  was  not  ready. 
He  rang  for  Jonathan. 

*^ou  can  go,"  he  said.  'T!  have  made  you  rich ;  you  shall 
be  happy  in  your  old  age ;  but  I  will  not  let  you  muddle  away 
my  life  any  longer.  Miserable  wretch!  I  am  hungry — 
where  is  my  dinner  ?     How  is  it  ? — Answer  me  I" 

A  satisfied  smile  stole  over  Jonathan's  face.  He  took  a 
candle  that  lit  up  the  great  dark  rooms  of  the  mansion  with, 
its  flickering  light;  brought  his  master,  who  had  again  be- 
come an  automaton,  into  a  great  gallery,  and  flung  a  door 
suddenly  open.  Eaphael  was  all  at  once  dazzled  by  a  flood  of 
light  and  amazed  by  an  unheard-of  scene. 

His  chandeliers  had  been  filled  with  wax-lights ;  the  rarest 
flowers  from  his  conservatory  were  carefully  arranged  about 
the  room;  the  table  sparkled  with  silver,  gold,  crystal,  and 
porcelain;  a  royal  banquet  was  spread — the  odors  of  the 
tempting  dishes  tickled  the  nervous  fibres  of  the  palate. 
There  sat  his  friends;  he  saw  them  among  beautiful  women 
in  full  evening  dress,  with  bare  necks  and  shoulders,  with 
flowers  in  their  hair;  fair  women  of  every  type,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  attractively  and  fancifully  arrayed.  One  had 
adopted  an  Irish  jacket,  which  displayed  the  alluring  out- 
lines of  her  form;  one  wore  the  "basquina"  of  Andalusia, 
with  its  wanton  grace ;  here  was  a  half -clad  Dian  the  huntress, 
there  the  costume  of  Mile,  de  la  Valliere,  amorous  and  coy; 
and  all  of  them  alike  were  given  up  to  the  intoxication  of 
the  moment. 

As  Eaphael's  death-pale  face  showed  itself  in  the  door- 
way, a  sudden  outcry  broke  out,  as  vehement  as  the  blaze  of 
this  improvised  banquet.  The  voices,  perfumes,  and  lights, 
the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  women,  produced  their  effect  upon 
his  senses,  and  awakened  his  desires.  Delightful  music,  from 
unseen  players  in  the  next  room,  drowned  the  excited  tumult 
in  a  torrent  of  harmon)' — the  whole  strange  vision  was  com- 
plete. 

Baphael  felt  a  caressing  pressure  of  his  own  hand,  a  wo- 


THE  AGONY  267 

man's  white,  youthful  arms  were  stretched  out  to  grasp  him, 
and  the  hand  was  Aquilina's.  He  knew  now  that  this  scene 
was  not  a  fantastic  illusion  like  the  fleeting  pictures  of  his 
disordered  dreams;  he  uttered  a  dreadful  cry,  slammed  the 
door,  and  dealt  his  heartbroken  old  servant  a  blow  in 
the  face. 

"Monster  I"  he  cried,  "so  you  have  sworn  to  kill  me  V  and 
trembling  at  the  risks  he  had  just  now  run,  he  summoned 
all  his  energies,  reached  his  room,  took  a  powerful  sleeping 
draught,  and  went  to  bed. 

"The  devil!"  cried  Jonathan,  recovering  himself.  "And 
M.  Bianchon  most  certainly  told  me  to  divert  his  mind." 

It  was  close  upon  midnight.  By  that  time,  owing  to  one  of 
those  physical  caprices  that  are  the  marvel  and  the  despair 
of  science,  Eaphael,  in  his  slumber,  became  radiant  with 
beauty.  A  bright  color  glowed  on  his  pale  cheeks.  There 
was  an  almost  girlish  grace  about  the  forehead  in  which  his 
genius  was  revealed.  Life  seemed  to  bloom  on  the  quiet  face 
that  lay  there  at  rest.  His  sleep  was  sound;  a  light,  even 
breath  was  drawn  in  between  the  red  lips ;  he  was  smiling — 
he  had  passed  no  doubt  through  the  gate  of  dreams  into  a 
noble  life.  Was  he  a  centenarian  now?  Did  his  grand- 
children come  to  wish  him  length  of  days  ?  Or,  on  a  rustic 
bench  set  in  the  sun  and  under  the  trees,  was  he  scanning, 
like  the  prophet  on  the  mountain  heights,  a  promised  land, 
a  far-off  time  of  blessing. 

"Here  you  are!" 

The  words,  uttered  in  silver  tones,  dispelled  the  shadowy 
faces  of  his  dreams.  He  saw  Pauline,  in  the  lamplight, 
sitting  upon  the  bed ;  Pauline  grown  fairer  yet  through  sorrow 
and  separation.  Eaphael  remained  bewildered  by  the  sight 
of  her  face,  white  as  the  petals  of  some  water  flower,  and  the 
shadow  of  her  long,  dark  hair  about  it  seemed  to  make  it 
whiter  still.  Her  tears  had  left  a  gleaming  trace  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  hung  there  yet,  ready  to  fall  at  the  least  move- 
ment. She  looked  like  an  angel  fallen  from  the  skies,  or  a 
spirit  that  a  breath  might  waft  away,  as  she  sat  there  all  in 


268  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 

white,  with  her  head  bowed,  scarcely  creasing  the  quilt  be- 
neath her  weight. 

"Ah,  I  have  forgotten  everything !"  she  cried,  as  Eaphael 
opened  his  eyes.  "I  have  no  voice  left  except  to  tell  you, 
*I  am  yours.'  There  is  nothing  in  my  heart  but  love.  Angel 
of  my  life,  you  have  never  been  so  beautiful  before !     Your 

eyes  are  blazing But  come,  I  can  guess  it  all.     You 

have  been  in  search  of  health  without  me ;  you  were  afraid  of 
me well " 

"Go !  go !  leave  me,"  Raphael  muttered  at  last.  "Why  do 
you  not  go?  If  you  stay,  I  shall  die.  Do  you  want  to  see 
me  die  ?" 

"Die?"  she  echoed.  "Can  you  die  without  me?  Die? 
But  you  are  young ;  and  I  love  you !  Die  ?"  she  asked,  in  a 
deep,  hollow  voice.  She  seized  his  hands  with  a  frenzied 
movement.     "Cold !"  she  wailed.     "Is  it  all  an  illusion  ?" 

Raphael  drew  the  little  bit  of  skin  from  under  his  pillow ; 
it  was  as  tiny  and  as  fragile  as  a  periwinkle-petal.  He  showed 
it  to  her. 

"Pauline !"  he  said,  "fair  image  of  my  fair  life,  let  us  say 
good-bye." 

"Good-bye?"  she  echoed,  looking  surprised. 

"Yes.  This  is  a  talisman  that  grants  all  my  wishes, 
and  that  represents  my  span  of  life.  See  here,  this  is 
all  that  remains  of  it.  If  you  look  at  me  any  longer,  I  shall 
die " 

The  young  girl  thought  that  Valentin  had  grown  light- 
headed; she  took  the  talisman  and  went  to  fetch  the  lamp. 
By  its  tremulous  light  which  she  shed  over  Raphael  and 
the  talisman,  she  scanned  her  lover's  face  and  the  last  morsel 
of  the  magic  skin.  As  Pauline  stood  there,  in  all  the  beauty 
jf  love  and  terror,  Raphael  was  no  longer  able  to  control 
his  thoughts;  memories  of  tender  scenes,  and  of  passionate 
and  fevered  joys,  overwhelmed  the  soul  that  had  so  long  lain 
dormant  within  him,  and  kindled  a  fire  not  quite  extinct. 

"Pauline !  Pauline !     Come  to  me " 

A  dreadful  cry  came  from  the  girl's  throat,  her  eyes  dilated 


THE  AGONY  269 

with  horror,  her  eyebrows  were  distorted  and  drawn  apart  by 
an  unspeakable  anguish;  she  read  in  EaphaeFs  eyes  the 
vehement  desire  in  which  she  had  once  exulted,  but  as  it  grew 
she  felt  a  light  movement  m  her  hand,  and  the  skin  con- 
tracted. She  did  not  stop  to  think;  she  fled  into  the  next 
room,  and  locked  the  door. 

"Pauline!  Pauline!"  cried  the  dying  man,  as  he  rushed 
after  her ;  "I  love  you,  I  adore  you,  I  want  you,  Pauline  1  I 
must  curse  you  if  you  will  not  open  the  door  for  me.  I  wish 
to  die  in  your  arms  !'* 

With  unnatural  strength,  the  last  effort  of  ebbing  life, 
he  broke  down  the  door,  and  saw  his  mistress  writhing  upon 
a  sofa.  Pauline  had  vainly  tried  to  pierce  her  heart,  and 
now  thought  to  find  a  rapid  death  by  strangling  herself  with 
her  shawl. 

"If  I  die,  he  will  live,"  she  said,  trying  to  tighten  the  knot 
that  she  had  made. 

In  her  struggle  with  death  her  hair  hung  loose,  her 
shoulders  were  bare,  her  clothing  was  disordered,  her  eyes 
were  bathed  in  tears,  her  face  was  flushed  and  drawn  with  the 
horror  of  despair ;  yet  as  her  exceeding  beauty  met  Raphael's 
intoxicated  eyes,  his  delirium  grew.  He  sprang  towards  her 
like  a  bird  of  prey,  tore  away  the  shawl,  and  tried  to  take  her 
in  his  arms. 

The  dying  man  sought  for  words  to  express  the  wish  that 
was  consuming  his  strength ;  but  no  sounds  would  come  except 
the  choking  death-rattle  in  his  chest.  Each  breath  he  drew 
sounded  hollower  than  the  last,  and  seemed  to  come  from 
his  very  entrails.  At  the  last  moment,  no  longer  able  to 
utter  a  sound,  he  set  his  teeth  in  Pauline's  breast.  Jonathan 
appeared,  terrified  by  the  cries  he  had  heard,  and  tried  to  tear 
away  the  dead  body  from  the  grasp  of  the  girl  who  was 
crouching  with  it  in  a  corner. 

''What  do  you  want?"  she  asked.  "He  is  mine,  I  have 
killed  him.    JDid  I  not  foresee  how  it  would  be?" 


270  THE  MAGIC  SKIN 


EPILOGUE 


"And  what  became  of  Pauline  ?" 

"Pauline?  Ah!  Do  you  sometimes  spend  a  pleasant 
winter  evening  by  your  own  fireside,  and  give  yourself  up 
luxuriously  to  memories  of  love  or  youth,  while  you  watch 
the  glow  of  the  fire  where  the  logs  of  oak  are  burning? 
Here,  the  fire  outlines  a  sort  of  chessboard  in  red  squares, 
there  it  has  a  sheen  like  velvet ;  little  blue  flames  start  up  and 
flicker  and  play  about  in  the  glowing  depths  of  the  brasier. 
A  mysterious  artist  comes  and  adapts  that  flame  to  his  own 
ends ;  by  a  secret  of  his  own  he  draws  a  visionary  face  in  the 
midst  of  those  flaming  violet  and  crimson  hues,  a  face  with 
unimaginable  delicate  outlines,  a  fleeting  apparition  which  no 
chance  will  ever  bring  back  again.  It  is  a  woman's  face,  her 
hair  is  blown  back  by  the  wind,  her  features  speak  of  a 
rapture  of  delight;  she  breathes  fire  in  the  midst  of  the 
fire.  She  smiles,  she  dies,  you  will  never  see  her  any  more. 
Farewell,  flower  of  the  flame !  Farewell,  essence  incomplete 
and  unforeseen,  come  too  early  or  too  late  to  make  the  spark 
of  some  glorious  diamond." 

"But,  Pauline?" 

"You  do  not  see,  then  ?  I  will  begin  again.  Make  way !  make 
way !  She  comes,  she  is  here,  the  queen  of  illusions,  a  woman 
fleeting  as  a  kiss,  a  woman  bright  as  lightning,  issuing  in  a 
blaze  like  lightning  from  the  sky,  a  being  uncreated,  of  spirit 
and  love  alone.  She  has  wrapped  her  shadowy  form  in  flame,  or 
perhaps  the  flame  betokens  that  she  exists  but  for  a  moment. 
The  pure  outlines  of  her  shape  tell  you  that  she  comes  from 
heaven.  Is  she  not  radiant  as  an  angel  ?  Can  you  not  hear 
the  beating  of  her  wings  in  space?  She  sinks  down  beside 
you  more  lightly  than  a  bird,  and  you  are  entranced  by  her 
awful  eyes;  there  is  a  magical  power  in  her  light  breathing 
that  draws  your  lips  to  hers;  she  flies  and  you  follow;  you  feel 
the  earth  beneath  you  no  longer.  If  you  could  but  once  touch 
that  form  of  snow  with  your  eager,  deluded  hands,  once  twine 


THE  AGONY  271 

the  golden  hair  round  your  fingers,  place  one  kiss  on  those 
shining  eyes !  There  is  an  intoxicating  vapor  around,  and  the 
spell  of  a  siren  music  is  upon  you.  Every  nerve  in  you  is 
quivering;  you  are  filled  with  pain  and  longing.  0  Joy  for 
which  there  is  no  name !  You  have  touched  the  woman's  lips, 
and  you  are  wakened  at  once  by  a  horrible  pang.  Oh !  ah ! 
yes,  you  have  struck  your  head  against  the  corner  of  the  bed- 
post, you  have  been  clasping  its  brown  mahogany  sides,  and 
chilly  gilt  ornaments;  embracing  a  piece  of  metal,  a  brazen 
Cupid." 

"But  how  about  Pauline,  sir?" 

*What,  again?  Listen.  One  lovely  morning  at  Tours  a 
young  man,  who  held  the  hand  of  a  pretty  woman  in  his, 
went  on  board  the  Ville  d' Angers.  Thus  united  they  both 
looked  and  wondered  long  at  a  white  form  that  rose 
elusively  out  of  the  mists  above  the  broad  waters  of 
the  Loire,  like  some  child  of  the  sun  and  the  river, 
or  some  freak  of  air  and  cloud.  This  translucent 
form  was  a  sylph  or  a  naiad  by  turns;  she  hovered 
in  the  air  like  a  word  that  haunts  the  memory,  which 
seeks  in  vain  to  grasp  it;  she  glided  among  the  islands,  she 
nodded  her  head  here  and  there  among  the  tall  poplar  trees ; 
then  she  grew  to  a  giant's  height ;  she  shook  out  the  countless 
folds  of  her  drapery  to  the  light;  she  shot  light  from  the 
aureole  that  the  sun  had  litten  about  her  face;  she  hovered 
above  the  slopes  of  the  hills  and  their  little  hamlets,  and 
seemed  to  bar  the  passage  of  the  boat  before  the  Chateau 
d'Uss^.  You  might  have  thought  that  La  dame  des  belles 
cousines  sought  to  protect  her  country  from  modem  in- 
trusion." 

"Well,  well,  I  understand.  So  it  went  with  Pauline.  But 
how  about  Foedora  ?" 

"Oh!  Fcedora,  you  are  sure  to  meet  with  her!  She  was 
at  the  Bouffons  last  night,  and  she  will  go  to  the  Opera  this 
evening,  and  if  you  like  to  take  it  so,  she  is  Society." 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  214126    5 


